Puzzle Pieces
by Love the Brightest Star
Summary: This is my story, The Return, from Tobias' point of view. From the moment he saw her, she was a puzzle piece to him, and he just had to figure her out. But when he does, he realizes that he himself is a piece of a much greater puzzle, one that threatens them all. Can Tris' second chance at life save them from impending doom?
1. The First Jumper

**Hey guys! I got a couple of requests for writing a few chapters of my story, The Return, from Tobias' POV, and as I hadn't switched POVs for all fourteen chapters yet, I thought that putting it up in a new story will be okay. This won't make too much sense if you haven't read The Return, so I suggest you check that out first.**

 **I'm not yet sure whether to make this a collection of FourTris oneshots from The Return, or a continuous story... We'll see. Meanwhile, enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer:Don't own Divergent or Tobias (aw man, how I wish I did) and also any dialogue you recognize.**

 **This chapter spans the first half of chapter 3 of The Return.**

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 _ **Chapter 1: The First Jumper**_

The crowd assembled at the net is as loud as ever. The sea of black appears darker in the diffused light from the hole. I wonder what it is like for these people to assemble here every year — looking at the sun's rays falling on the large net outstretched on the wooden platform. This is my second year doing this, standing here clad in black like everyone else instead of the baggy gray clothes. The light falling on the net gives it a strange look in the darkness, as if it is a divine platform for fallen angels to land. I laugh to myself at the strange analogy. Since when did I start thinking of scrawny initiates as fallen angels?

There is a lot of chatter everywhere. I can hear people placing bets — regarding the number of initiates we will have this year, or which faction the first jumper will be from. The Dauntless are competitive folk. Not to mention that the chocolate cake is a favourite thing for anyone to wager on.

"Ready for the transfers this year?" Lauren says, shifting over to stand by my side.

"More so than last time," I reply, allowing her an upward twitch of the corner of my lips. I was a rookie last year, although Max had said I was doing just fine; this time I have a much better idea about how to best put the initiates through their paces. Although I wonder how much of my way I'll actually have... there's Eric to interfere, of course.

"Can't say I envy you." Lauren grins. "Dauntless-borns are so much easier to train. At least they aren't so damn clueless."

I have no answer to that. When I opted for initiation instructor, Lauren and I were the candidates, and her being a Dauntless-born and me a transfer, our assigned responsibilities were obvious. But at least I understand the insecurities of a transfer — been there, done that.

"They should be jumping off the train by now," Lauren says, checking her watch. "Bet you a big piece of cake that the first jumper will be a Dauntless-born."

"I'm not taking you up on that," I reply with a half-smile. "I am not ready to sacrifice my chocolate cake for something you have every chance of winning. Plus, I don't bet."

"You're no fun, Four," she laughs, shaking her head. "Loosen up for once."

She hardly manages to get the words out of her mouth when we hear a faint scream from high above, growing louder by the second. A hush falls over the Dauntless, everyone straightening up to get a better look at whoever has decided to be the bravest. I walk a few steps forward so that I am right up front, standing by the platform where the net stretches a foot or so above me.

It occurs to me then, even as the scream becomes close and loud, that this is not a cry of terror. Through all these years, I have heard screams, all types of them, enough to be able to analyze the emotions that are behind them. I have heard my mother's scream of pain, Marcus' ones of rage, my own, a combination of both as I faced him. I have heard the Dauntless members' rowdy cries, and the transfers' screams of terror. But this, which I hear, is not fear. It's exhilaration, as if the person falling is enjoying every second of it. That's pretty much unheard of, even with Dauntless-borns. I remember the way Zeke stumbled when he tried of jump off, making a fool of himself, and stifle a laugh. My head lifts on its own accord, curious to see the individual as the second feels far too long.

I watch as she falls, and I find my eyes widening in surprise. Of all types of people I had expected to make their appearance, this was not it. She is small, almost fragile in her build, her blonde hair splayed out like a halo as she lands on the net. She is covered in a gray shirt and trousers. Abnegation. The first jumper is from Abnegation.

The expectant silence gives way to murmurs as everyone crowds around to give a hand to the first jumper. I can hear the surprise and disbelief in their voices — at the fact that a Stiff not only transfered to Dauntless, but also jumped first. I find myself being jostled around, and walk as far ahead as I can, strangely detached from the chaos. My eyes refuse to move from her.

She sits up on the net, covering her face with her hands, and laughs. Yes, she freaking _laughs_. I am reminded of my own jump, two years ago — I was the last one to jump, and I nearly wet my pants. Admittedly, I am afraid of heights. _She_ definitely is not, because I see the laughter lingering in her eyes as she crawls over to the edge of the net, and her face reflects an expression of utter relief and ease, like she just came home, instead of jumping off a seven storied building to an unfamiliar faction. She reaches out to the outstretched hands, but stumbles at the last moment, beginning a fall which would land her face first on the ground. My arms automatically reach out, grabbing her and holding her steady.

She is rather plain in her appearance, her blonde hair framing her small face, and a rather long, prominent nose. She is more than a head shorter than me; it is difficult to believe that she is actually sixteen. She looks so young. There is a vague familiarity about her, but that is no surprise; we must have met at some point of time in Abnegation. Her eyes are a striking shade of blue-gray, piercing, demanding. I hold her arms for what I think is a moment, but it seems to stretch around us. She isn't shy. She looks me straight in the eye, holding me with her penetrating gaze. Then I let go of her, stepping back. She blushes, looking away from me. Okay, maybe I was wrong about her not being shy.

"Thank you," she murmurs, her voice soft.

"Can't believe it," I hear Lauren say behind me. "A Stiff, the first to jump? Unheard of."

I turn to look at her; she is right, of course. But this girl must not be like the rest of them if she left. I wonder what her reason was. It can't be like me, she doesn't look like she did it out of desperation. She did it because she wanted to. The sparkle in her eyes say so, whatever the reason behind that desire might be.

"There's a reason why she left them, Lauren," I say aloud. There is always a reason behind a transfer's choice, because they are leaving their families and the familiarity of their homes to do it. And when it is Abnegation, the reason is all the more strong, because the Abnegation, despite all their talk of selflessness, do not forgive and forget.

"What's your name?" I ask the new girl. She stops short, something shifting in her eyes, some of the earlier joy draining out of them.

"I —" she begins haltingly.

"Think about it," I say, feeling a faint smile on my lips. "You don't get to pick again." She must feel uncomfortable with her name, especially as the Abnegation choose all goody-goody and pious names for their children, which is so different from Dauntless. Or maybe she wants to hide her true name, like me.

She smiles at me. "Tris," she says.

 _Tris. Nice name._

"Tris," Lauren repeats, grinning. "Make the announcement, Four."

Obliging, I look over my shoulder at the sea of curious faces, and call, "First jumper—Tris!"

The crowd cheers, and I grin at their jubilation. The Dauntless are strange, tough people, but they can make you feel wanted. Once you prove yourself, this place can be an amazing home. But it will never be for me; I am not brave, I am not worthy of being called a Dauntless. Without thought, I find myself shifting closer to the girl, Tris. Our eyes lock, and I see how her lips part, just a little, as she looks at me. I would have wondered what the emotion behind this reaction might be, but at the moment, strangely, I am not thinking at all.

But then the screams of another girl accompany her down, and as the crowd starts cheering again, the strange moment is broken. Surprising myself, I find my hand pressing against her back as I give her a little push. Did I just imagine it, or did she shiver?

I look at her, taking in once again her wide eyes, and somehow find myself compelled to say, "Welcome to Dauntless."

I don't know why, but I somehow feel like I want her to feel at home. Maybe it's just because she is from my former faction — one Stiff to another. Maybe it is because I never managed it myself.

-o0o-

Once all the initiates are down safely, we segregate the transfers from the Dauntless-borns. Max lands the last, and as he walks away, he informs me in a low voice that three initiates did not make it — two transfers and a Dauntless-born. The transfers are factionless, the Dauntless-born dead. She could not land on the roof. I hate the matter of fact way in which he says it, as if someone dying is a very commonplace incident. But that is what things are like in Dauntless.

Lauren takes the Dauntless-borns and walks away, leaving myself with my charge. I give them a once over — there are nine in all. I introduce myself.

"Four? Like the number?" a girl Tris is standing with says skeptically, immediately spiking my temper. Her dress answers for her lack of sensitivity — black and white, she is a Candor. I hate those lots and their tactlessness.

"Yes," I say, taking a calming breath. "Is there a problem?"

"No."

"Good. We're about to go into the Pit, which you will someday learn to love. It—"

The girl snickers. "The Pit? Clever name." That's it, she has just asked for it. I notice Tris' alarmed expression; she does something to the girl, probably stomping on her feet to shut her up. I appreciate her sensitivity, but she isn't quick enough.

"Ow," the Candor girl grumbles. "What is it?"

 _Hello? Ever heard of something called 'Think before you speak'?_

I walk over to her, my expression carefully neutral. I bring my face very close to hers.

"What's your name?" I ask quietly.

"Christina," she squeaks.

"Well, Christina, if I wanted to put up with Candor smartmouths, I would have joined their faction," I hiss. "The first lesson you will learn from me is to keep your mouth shut. Got that?" She nods.

I walk away from her, taking the lead again, resisting the urge to smirk. The 'classic Four treatment', as Zeke likes to call it, can be very effective, as I have learnt.

I explain the routine stuff to the transfers, telling them of the customs of Dauntless and giving them the general picture of the headquarters. Mid-lecture, my eyes drift over to Tris. She is looking at me, but it is clear that she is not paying attention to what I am saying. Her eyes have a glazed look, as if she is lost in some memory or fantasy. My brow furrows. Dauntless is not a place for dilly-dallying, at least not until she has been initiated. She must learn to be a soldier. To pay attention to what is being said.

"Do you find something more interesting than what I'm saying?" I say sharply. Her face turns bright red.

"No, I —" she stutters, visibly embarrassed. "I'm sorry." Someone in the crowd titters.

I nod. "You'd better be paying attention, Stiff, because I am not going to be repeating my directions." She looks down, giving a flustered nod, and I continue with my tour.

When I am done with explaining the basics, I lead the transfers to the dining hall. Curiously enough, I find myself at the same table with Tris and that Candor smartmouth, Christina. Ugh, I do hope she won't start off talking again. I don't think I'll be able to stand it.

I reach for the nearest food I have, which happens to be a plate of bacon rashers, when I notice Tris pinching the hamburgers placed before her uncertainly. Right, she is from Abnegation. Of course she is unfamiliar to this; the Abnegation food is plain to say the least. Just like the rest of them. How I hate these principles, especially as I know the hypocrisy that goes on under the mask of selflessness, when it comes to some people. Learnt it first hand. _This is for your own good_. I can still hear his voice, every day in my dreams and in my nightmares, even when I am not in my fear landscape trying to face him. I shake my thoughts away, instead focusing on Tris. She must feel like a stranger here, to this place and its customs. I had Zeke, Shauna and Amar to help me through my tough times, even though I kept essentially to myself through initiation; she needs someone to guide her too. Something in me compels me to look out for her, almost unthinkingly. Weird.

"It's beef," I say, putting a stop on my overthinking, nudging her with my elbow to get her attention. "Put this on it," I add, passing her the bowl of hot sauce. Our fingers touch as she takes it from me, and I feel a tiniest tingle of electricity at the contact. Huh. I must be sleep-deprived or something.

"You've never tried a hamburger before?" Christina asks her incredulously.

"No," she says.

"Stiffs eat plain food," I explain, nodding at Christina. _You talk like you weren't one a couple of years ago, Tobias._

"Why?" she asks.

Tris shrugs. "Extravagance is considered self-indulgent and unnecessary."

Christina smirks. "No wonder you left."

"Yeah," she says, rolling her eyes. "It was just because of the food."

I repress a smile, but can't help my lips from twitching up a little. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see her smiling.

Eric chooses that instant to turn up and ruin the moment. I feel myself stiffen, focusing on keeping my expression neutral. It's good that I am pretty efficient at hiding my emotion, because Eric and my history doesn't make his presence here welcome. And for some reason, I don't like the hawk-like look he is giving Tris and Christina.

"Well, aren't you going to introduce me?" he asks, nodding to the girls.

"This is Tris and Christina," I say.

"Ooh, a Stiff," says Eric, smirking at Tris. His smile puts me on edge, especially as I see Tris purse her lips. "We'll see how long you last."

Tris' eyes blaze at his comment, and her eyebrows knit together. Quite a spitfire, it seems. She looks like she is about to say something, but thinks better of it. Sensible of her.

Eric's attention shifts over to me, and he says that Max wants to see me. I know this is all about — the usual offer of leadership. I rebuff Max's offer yet again. I guess I should be grateful that he is still insisting on me taking on the position of a leader, but I know that I can't do it. Not only can I not face Marcus (and my subconscious brands me a coward every time for it), I have no wish to be a pawn in Max and Jeanine's hands.

"Are you two…friends?" Tris asks me curiously once Eric leaves.

 _Friends. Yeah, right_.

"We were in the same initiate class," I explain shortly. "He transferred from Erudite."

"Were you a transfer too?"

Her question immediately puts me on the defensive. I can't help it; it happens every time someone tries to probe into my past.

"I thought I would only have trouble with the Candor asking too many questions," I say coldly. "Now I've got Stiffs, too?"

"It must be because you're so approachable," she says boldly, taking me by surprise. "You know. Like a bed of nails." Okay, she is not the quiet, demure girl she seems to be. No one has talked back to me like this in a long time other than my friends, and this has never happened when an initiate is concerned. Ever. She has some spunk, this girl.

I look at her, only to practically have my jaw drop. She has her hand over her mouth, but I can see it in her eyes — she's laughing. She is _laughing_. At me? What's so funny?

I lean in towards her. "Are you laughing at me?" I ask very quietly. It's my 'Four voice', Zeke says.

"Oh, no, I wouldn't dare!" she replies, her eyes wide, but in a mockery of terror; it seems that she is actually enjoying this interaction. I find myself biting back a laugh, even as I find her refusal to be intimidated by me rather vexing. She is something else. Something completely new to me.

As I stare unblinkingly at her, caught in a staring match, I see her pupils dilate. A touch of red creeps up her cheek, and her breathing becomes erratic. The tension that stretches between us is suddenly all too palpable.

"Careful, Tris," I breathe very close to her face, never once looking away from her startling gray eyes.

"Hey, Four!" someone calls from a table across the hall. The moment is broken. Determinedly not looking at Tris, I walk over to the voice, spotting Harrison waving at me.

"Hey man," he says, thumping me on the back. "How's it going? Busy with the initiates already?"

I sit down in the seat vacated by another Dauntless. "Oh, it's alright. Same as last year, I guess. It's too early to tell."

"Hmm." He nods. "The first jumper was a Stiff, yeah? Gave us quite a shock there."

"That was definitely unexpected," I allow.

"You having a moment with her there?" Harrison winks at me. "I didn't interrupt, I hope."

I hope to God that the heat creeping up my neck isn't noticeable. "It was nothing," I say with forced nonchalance. "Just the Stiff being nosy. I know that Candors have that issue, but Stiffs too..."

"Bet you made her wet her pants with a glare of yours." Harrison chuckles.

 _Far from that, actually. I ended up making her laugh_. I look over my shoulder to look at the table I left. Tris is laughing heartily, even as Christina grins. Laughter enhances her looks, it brings rosiness to her pale face. I find myself smiling a little even as I look at her.

The clatter of a fork brings me out of my daze, and I force myself to turn away and focus on the slice of cake that Harrison has pushed towards me.

What was _that_ all about?

As I rise from my table, preparing myself to escort the transfers to the dorm, I notice Max looking at me from a hallway. At his nod, I walk towards him.

"Evening, Four," he greets. "Hope Eric got my message through to you."

"He did."

"And?" He looks at me expectantly.

"My answer hasn't changed."

He sighs. "I was hoping that wouldn't be the case."

"We had this discussion before, Max. I don't want the job."

"You were my first choice," he says. "I am still holding it out to you because I think you are capable. Two years is a long time for deliberation. You wouldn't be getting this offer if it were anyone else."

"I know, sir." I nod. "And I am honored at the privilege."

"You realize that I won't be asking after you forever, don't you?"

"Yes. Yes, I do."

"Very well." He looks at me sternly. "I just came to inform you that you won't be needed anymore tonight."

"Sir?" I look at him, surprised. "I thought I had to take the transfers to their dormitory."

"Eric will be doing it. You can take over your charges tomorrow."

"But — Max, they are _my_ responsibility," I argue. I don't like the idea of Eric alone with the initiates. The last thing they need is his presence. I may be withdrawn and unapproachable, but Eric gives off a definitely unpleasant vibe.

"But the rules aren't yours, Four. Unfortunately, there is nothing you can do about it. Use the early night to get some energy for tomorrow." He nods at me, and turns to leave. "Oh, and Four? Eric will be overseeing the training along with you."

Great. Just what I needed.

Relieved of my duties for the night, I slowly make my way back to my apartment. It isn't hard to guess why Eric will oversee the trainings too, despite holding the important post of a leader — they don't trust me enough, and they don't approve of my methods of training. Last year, much to Eric's chagrin, I had stopped the fights before any of the initiates got hurt too badly. Something tells me that this year, they'll be made to fight tooth and nail, until one of them just can't. The values of Dauntless are changing. Surely this isn't what was meant to be when the factions were created — changing people into vicious, heartless beasts. As I open the door to my apartment, I can't help the image of that girl, Tris, that flits into my mind — so small and fragile, not an ounce of muscle on her, and wonder how she will cope.

I quickly take a cold shower and change my black denim pants and full-sleeved shirt in favor of the more comfortable pajamas and a loose T-shirt. I lie down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow feels like an hour worthy of anticipation, unlike the rest of the dull days I have been through lately, deliberating the idea of defecting to become factionless. But for some reason, the plans don't make it into my head today. All I can think of is that I have a group of young people under my wing, all ready to be sharpened into something they were not. I wonder how many will make it to the end, and how many won't. There are three Erudite, five Candor and one from Abnegation — Tris. And for some strange reason, it is her face, and her wide, demanding eyes that keep flashing before my eyes before I gradually drift off.

Tomorrow is definitely going to be a long day.

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 **Yes, a little short perhaps... I'll try to update soon. Did I do justice to Tobias' POV?**

 **Until next time!**


	2. All About Experience

**Here's the second chapter! I decided to make it a continuous story, like you wanted. Let's see how I do. :)**

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 ** _Chapter 2: All about Experience_**

I wake up early in the morning and head to the training room after a quiet breakfast. The dining hall wasn't so crowded this early, and I welcomed the moment of solitude. The training room smells of sweat, dust and effort, it always does. I let my eyes roam around, checking if everything is in place. The circle in the center, the chalkboard on the wall, and the targets. I tug at the punching bags, ensuring that they are firmly in place. This is the place where the Dauntless let out their aggression, where they sharpen themselves into something harsher. I remember all too easily my own times — my fights with Eric, bleeding my knuckles as I rained blows on the punching bag, training Shauna. This room helped me let out the violence pressed down inside me, to make me into the hardy soldier people see when they look at me today. Even these days, I come here alone sometimes, to let out steam when everything in me feels twisted and burnt up.

Once I am done, I head to the transfers' dormitory to get started with the initiates.

It's all too easy to understand why Lauren prefers to train the Dauntless-borns. They have at least a good idea what they are supposed to do; they have heard about their seniors going through this experience ever since they began to remember things. The transfers are in no way accustomed to what is expected of them in Dauntless, or anything even close. They blink sleep out of their eyes as they stand before me in a line. The Candor smartmouth, Christina, has her hair completely curled and fuzzy from bed. The Erudite boy with green eyes struggles to keep his eyes open. The best look among the lot is probably of that tall blond Erudite boy standing with the mousy haired girl. Oh, and Tris. By some unexplained way, she does not have the befuddled, dead on their feet look that her fellow initiates do, as if she knows exactly what I am about to ask them to do. Her eyes are alight with anticipation. I begin my duties, pushing a gun into each of their hand.

"The first thing you will learn today is how to shoot a gun. The second thing is how to win a fight," I tell them. "Thankfuly, if you are here, you already know how to get on and off a moving train, so I don't need to teach you that."

I give them a basic introduction of the three stages of initiation, revealing only as much as I am supposed to.

"But what…" A Candor boy yawns through his words. "What does firing a gun have to do with…bravery?"

 _It shouldn't take you long to figure out_.

It seems like this boy would need a lesson in vigilance. I flip the gun in my hand, casually pressing the barrel against his temple.

"Wake. Up. You are holding a loaded gun, idiot. Act like it," I snap at him.

Zeke would have laughed at me if I had done this to him. The boy stiffens. I wonder what the other initiates might be thinking of me at the moment.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Tris smiling. It somehow makes me feel better about this moment of ruthlessness.

"And to answer your question… you are far less likely to soil your pants and cry for your mother if you're prepared to defend yourself." I stop pacing at the end of the row, only to turn on my heel and march back. "This is also information you may need later in stage one. So, watch me."

I demonstrate how to shoot a gun, feeling the all too familiar flow of power in my fingertips. For a split second, I see a woman, insignificant and innocent, standing in front of me, but I blink the image away to hit my target. A hole appears at the center. It's all too easy now, after all the practice.

I step back, allowing the initiates to begin. They step forward; I watch as they raise their guns, most of them holding it awkwardly, still trying to balance the weight in their hands. The burly Candor boy's hands shake slightly as he takes his stance, as does the Erudite girl's. Not good. The Erudite boy, who probably is her boyfriend, seems much more confident, testing his position with an analytical look in his eyes. I let my eyes skim across as they fire their first shots. Many of them stagger back from the recoil. Only the tall Erudite boy and the idiot Candor have managed to get their shots in the target, and Tris. To my surprise, her bullet hole is well within the target, farther in even than the Erudite boy's. Beginner's luck?

But then, she shoots again, and her bullet goes right through the center. My jaw drops. Wow. Whoever would have thought?

I forget all about the other initiates as I stare at Tris firing the gun, again and again and again. Not once does she miss the target. Her body does not jerk back much from the recoil force; she appears ready. And the majority of times, she manages to hit the center.

I shake my head in disbelief. How is this possible? The only way one can be this good is when one has had a great deal of practice, and I know all too well that her family would disown her before letting her touch a gun. Maybe she has an inborn talent...?

Her friends voice my questions.

"You realise that you are defying nature, don't you?" The shorter one among the two Erudite boys says from the side. "Statistics say that you shouldn't be able to shoot this good at the first try."

Tris blushes, and her lips lift in a smile. "Is that so?" she queries softly, an undercurrent of amusement in her voice.

"Yes! How are you doing it, Tris?" Christina asks incredulously. She has only just managed to hit the target. "It seems like you were born to be Dauntless."

"Uh, beginner's luck?" Tris offers, her face still red. For some reason, her eyes dart around nervously, like she has done something she shouldn't have.

 _Beginner's luck? No way_. I know a trained shooter when I see one. But it just can't be.

I pace around the initiates, taking mental notes of their strengths and weaknesses, and correcting them when they make a mistake.

I can't help speak as I step closer to Tris, looking at the small crease between her eyebrows as she concentrates, her hands holding the gun and legs parted perfectly in the posture required. My first instinct is to ask her where she learnt to shoot, but knowing the absurdity of the question, I don't.

"You did extraordinarily well," I praise her quietly. She shrugs unassumingly, clutching the gun tighter in her hands.

"I guess there's some hidden brutality in me."

The urge to question her drains from me immediately. That's such an Abnegation thought; she couldn't have been anything else.

"This is not about brutality," I tell her, shaking my head. "It's about being self sufficient, about being strong." She doesn't say anything in reply, and feeling that I have overstayed my welcome, I step away.

-o0o-

After the session, I let the initiates off for a short lunch break, heading for the dining hall myself. I have barely taken a bite of my food when Zeke and Shauna drop down beside me.

"Hey bro," Zeke grins. "Where have you been? I have been missing you."

"Hey Shauna," I smile at my best friend. "Didn't you have duty at the fence?"

"Xander traded me the night shift," Shauna says, filling up her plate. "How have things been for you?"

"Hey, I am here too!" Zeke protests. "Why is it that you are talking only to her?"

"I am sorry, what did you say?" I ask, my lips twitching. "I was talking to my only best friend."

"Four!" Zeke whines, even as Shauna and I crack up. "That is not nice!"

"Do you realize how much you sound like a pushy girlfriend?" Shauna teases him.

"Learnt it from you," Zeke quips. Shauna's eyes narrow.

"Four," she says very sweetly, looking at me from under fluttering eyelashes. "I think I just dumped this idiot here. Are you free this evening?'

"Sure thing," I play along. "It's a date."

"Okay, okay, enough!" Zeke cuts in. "I get it; my best friend and girlfriend are total devils all set to make my life a living hell, now can we stop the 'Make Zeke look like an ass' day and eat?"

"Oh, but Zeke, you made a fool of yourself the very first day you jumped into Dauntless." Shauna laughs. Zeke's face turns red.

"I wasn't —"

"How was that? Didn't you do something like this, Zeke?" Shauna's friend Maddie says, catching the last part of our conversation. She makes a funny face and flaps her hands in a flailing motion.

"And yelled something incoherent," I supply helpfully.

"I think he said, 'Noooo mum I messed it please don't kill me!'" Alex quips from the next table. Hana's reputation as a formidable woman is well known in Dauntless. Everyone around bursts into laughter.

"Oh, shut up," Zeke mumbles, suddenly very focused on his food. "At least I was the first jumper."

"Speaking of the first jumper, who was it this time?" Shauna asks curiously. "I had to fill in for Joe at the fence; I couldn't be here. Was it my headstrong little sister?"

"No, not Lynn. It was a Stiff."

Shauna's eyebrows almost rise into her hair.

"First jumper, a Stiff? Never heard of it before. Oh, my sister's never going to hear the end of this."

"My idiot brother has been going on about her," Zeke says, his mouth full of food.

"Gross, Zeke, finish your food first!" Shauna admonishes.

Zeke gulps down the food. "I talked to him yesterday and all he's about is 'Tris is incredible, she managed it so perfectly on the train and then jumped off too... never seen a transfer like her'... seriously, if I didn't know that he flirts with Marlene eighteen hours a day, I'd have thought he was smitten with the Stiff."

I frown. So Tris showed perfect skills in travelling on the train too in her first try. A Dauntless-born couldn't have boasted of more.

I walk back to call up the transfers; the break is over. And I know one thing, even though I'm not planning it.

Through the training, I'll be watching that girl very carefully.

-o0o-

I take the initiates to the training room, where they stand behind their respective punching bags. I took some time to jot down their names on the chalkboard, so I have a fair idea what each of them is called now.

"As I said this morning," I start, "next you will learn how to fight. The purpose of this is to prepare you to act; to prepare your body to respond to threats and challenges — which you will need, if you intend to survive life as a Dauntless. We will go over technique today, and tomorrow you will start to fight each other." Talking about fighting each other makes me sick; it makes me think that we are asking them to turn into cruel beasts. "So I recommend that you pay attention. Those who don't learn fast will get hurt," I conclude with the warning.

I demonstrate a few moves and tell them what they are called, before allowing the transfers to begin. Before long, the only sound in the training room is the thud of fists hitting the punching bags and the heavy breathing of the initiates. I have the same job here too as I had in the shooting session — to judge the transfers and help them overcome their weaknesses, before they are tested against each other. With Eric watching them too.

Among the boys, Edward, the blonde, burly Erudite, is easily the best. His blows are well measured and sure. He clearly has had practice somewhere. I walk over to him.

"Edward," I say, "you're doing great."

"Thanks," he huffs, flashing me a quick grin before refocusing on his punching bag.

"Did you have practice in Erudite?"

"Been training in combat since ten," he replies, pride shining in his eyes. "I've always wanted to join Dauntless." I nod.

"Keep it up."

After Edward Peter, the Candor sleazeball, appears a close second. Al, the biggest of the transfer initiates, seems to have potential; his strength is like a grizzly bear, uncontrolled and lumbering, as opposed to the analytical, calculated skills that Peter and Edward show. Will isn't too bad, either. Neither is Drew, although something about his looks puts me off immediately.

The girls naturally have a harder time in this part of training — it's sheer physical strength that is needed here. Christina seems hardy; she doesn't look entirely comfortable, but she will be getting used to it fast enough. Myra, the Erudite girl, is by all means, hopeless. She is lithe and beautiful, but lacks resilience. Her blows are devoid of strength; she is definitely not cut out for Dauntless. I wonder why she made her choice. Molly is a nasty piece of work, but she has strength; her bulky figure compensates for her lack of skills. The person pitted against her may have a hard time.

Tris, once again, gives me a surprise. She is small and thin, so I wouldn't expect much from her, but she hits her punching bag with more than enough force. What intrigues me more is the sure, confident manner in which her blows fall. It is similar to Edward in a way, like she has done this before. Which, again, brings me to the fact that vexingly puts a stop on this theory — it's impossible, because she is from Abnegation. If I were a Dauntless-born or a transfer from some other faction, I might have wondered if the Abnegation secretly train their children for combat, but I myself being from the same faction know all too well that the Abnegation do not permit violence. _What about Marcus?_ a voice whispers in my head, but I ignore it. Marcus was a sadist, but he wasn't like the Dauntless. His violence was not disciplined; it was plain cruelty. And I am sure whatever family Tris belongs to (I still cannot bring forth any idea of who her parents are) is whole and loving. _Then why did she transfer?_ Was it simply because she had recognized the Dauntless traits in her, which she is exhibiting now? Did she not feel bad about leaving her family, her faction? I have no answer to that.

"You are doing well," I tell her, realizing with a start that I have been staring at her too long. "You don't have much muscle, which means you're better off using your knees and elbows. You can put more power behind them." She nods without so much as sparing me a look, her hands still working. For some unknown reason, I feel a small trickle of disappointment run through me at her lack of reaction.

Without even realizing what I am doing, I press my hand to her abdomen. Unexpectedly, goosebumps run up my arm. Tris gasps, staring at me with wide eyes.

"Never forget to keep tension here," I say quietly. The abdomen is a vulnerable spot, and especially for her; she needs to stay on her guard. I remove my hand from her and walk away.

 _Why did you have to touch her to tell that?_ my inner voice says snarkily. _You could just have spoken to her and made the point._ It's true. I always shy away from contact, and yet around her, I seem to be initiating contact at every opportunity. Why is that?

I manage to come up with no answers.

I have hardly walked a couple of steps away from her when I hear a thud, and a startled yelp. I turn to see Tris on the floor, massaging her head. She must have hit herself with the punching bag.

"Tris! Are you okay?" I quickly walk back to help her up.

"Yeah, I —" she doesn't finish the sentence, covering her face with her hands. Through the space between her fingers, I see her cheeks flushed red.

*She is adorable.* I blink, surprised at the sudden thought.

What is happening to me?

-o0o-

"Just _one_ evening off," Zeke grumbles. "I ask for just one evening off, and they won't let that be. 'You should place your job over everything else, Zeke,'" he imitates Gus's deep voice. "Yeah, right."

"I'm sure Shauna wouldn't mind the date being delayed a day or two," I tell him. "She will understand."

We walk towards the Pire from my apartment, dodging crowds of rowdy teenagers and running children in the way.

"I had planned everything out!" Zeke throws his hands up in the air. "It was supposed to be a good date."

"You plan out dates? Since when?" I raise an eyebrow. "And what would it involve? Let me guess, you trying on your best pickup lines through mouthfuls of chocolate cake?"

"Ha ha, aren't you just hilarious?" Zeke makes a face. "I have been with Shauna for two years, Four."

"I always thought it was a case of pity more than love on her part," I quip.

We walk across the Pit, which is loud and noisy with the evening's entertainment. Near the tattoo parlor, I spot Tris and her friends. She is talking to Tori, a smile on her face. She wears a v-neck sleeveless top, her hair tied back. Even from a distance, I notice how her eyes stand out even more than usual — subtle touches of makeup. She looks as comfortable in her surroundings as if she had been here for ages, and it wasn't only her second day in this unknown place. She has blended in fast.

"You have been joking around lately," Zeke comments, looking at me through narrowed eyes, breaking me out of my reverie. "Why's that?"

My lips lift in a half smile. "Is that so?"

"Yes! Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?"

I just laugh and shake my head. He may be right. But the thing is, I am not sure of the reason of this change myself.

-o0o-

I stare at the chalkboard, leaning against the wall in what anyone would think is a casual way, but every muscle in my body feels tight, and the hair at the back of my neck tingle. And the reason for my uneasiness stands right before me.

"Are you done yet with the list?" I ask Eric. It is infuriating to see him jotting down the transfers' names with a gleam in his eyes, like he is just pairing them up for a class project instead of pitting them against one another.

"Give me a minute, it's almost done," Eric says, tugging at the metal ring on his eyebrow with the pen in his hand. "What's the name of that guy again? Candor, hulking chap, with that idiotic look on his face? Bushy eyebrows?"

"Are you talking about Al?"

"Yeah, that's him." Eric quickly scribbles the name on the paper.

"I gave you the list of transfers, Eric."

"Who needs that when I have you?" He quirks his eyebrows. "There, done. Copy it out on the board."

I take the list from him, stony faced, and give it a once over. There are four fights. Since there are nine initiates, one of them won't be fighting today. I see that Tris hasn't been paired.

"Since I had to leave one off, I thought it might as well be the Stiff," Eric says, twirling the pen in his hand. "It'd be kindness to let her have one day of relief before someone breaks her into pieces." He shakes his head. "Bet you she's the earliest to get kicked out."

Somehow, his words make me want to punch him in the face. But I remain impassive and silent, writing the names down on the board. The initiates walk into the room in groups as I finish my work.

"Since there are an odd number of you, one of you won't be fighting today," I tell them, glancing away from the empty space beside Tris' name to lock my gaze with her. Unexpectedly, her face shows no relief at the reprieve. Her blue-gray eyes are grave and tense, as if she knows that something awful is going to happen today. It does not make the tightening of my muscles any better.

Murmurs break out among the initiates, stares crossing across the room as each individual sizes up their opponent. Some faces look superior, others dismayed.

The first fight is between Al and Will. They step into the arena, raising their hands to their faces in a defensive gesture as I taught them yesterday. Al is half a foot taller than Will, and much, much heavier; unless Will is a dark horse, it's not difficult to guess the results of this fight.

I keep my eyes focused on the fighters, resolutely keeping my eyes off Eric, who stands to my side; I know all too well the greedy, analytical look he has on his faces when the fights happen. I have seen enough of it last year. He enjoys watching these fights. I don't.

Al punches Will in the jaw, and judging by the way the boy winces, it was painful. Will blocks the next attack, and hooks his foot around Al's leg, knocking him to the ground. A good move.

Both of them look hesitant, unsure; their eyes flick to me, as if asking what they are supposed to do now.

"Do you think this is a leisure activity?" Eric shouts suddenly. He is getting impatient. "Should we break for nap-time? Fight each other!"

"But…" Al straightens, letting his hands down, and says, "Is it scored or something? When does the fight end?"

"It ends when one of you is unable to continue," says Eric.

His tone makes my blood boil.

"According to Dauntless rules," I interject, "one of you could also concede."

Eric narrows his eyes at me. "According to the old rules," he says. "In the new rules, no one concedes."

"A brave man acknowledges the strength of others," I snap.

"A brave man never surrenders," Eric counters.

We glare at each other, each willing the other to back down. But I know that Eric is the one who has the say in this; I am only a low down instructor, while he is the leader. His words, his rules, those are the things that matter here. I think of how easily I could have been there in his place, and for a short time, I regret my decision. Perhaps I could have brought Dauntless back to its old values.

"This is ridiculous," Al says, shaking his head. "What's the point of beating him up? We're in the same faction!"

"Oh, you think it's going to be that easy?" Will asks, grinning. "Go on. Try to hit me, slowpoke."

It's a foolish move on his part. Al's eyes harden as he faces Will again. Will actually does quite well for some time, getting a few good moves. But then he kicks Al on his back. I watch as Al turns, his face taking on a fierce expression. And I know what is about to happen. This fight will end in ten, nine, eight...

The light leaves Will's eyes before I reach three, Al's punch hitting him hard on the jaw. He crumples to the floor. It takes him a few minutes to blink back to consciousness. I circle Al's name on the board, before supporting Will up and carrying him out of the room. I hate leaving the initiates with Eric, but I have no choice.

"That was embarrassing," Will groans as we stumble through the corridor towards the infirmary.

"It's bound to be if you lose," I reply.

"How did I do?"

"Not bad for your first time. But you need to work better, if you want to get anywhere." I want to stop talking now; the thought of Eric having a free reign to do whatever he wants with the initiates leaves me on edge.

"My jaw feels like someone just thumped it against a rock." Will massages his wound with his fingers.

"Do me a favor and stop talking," I snap at him, running out of patience. "You are quite heavy, if you must know, and you aren't helping me with your whining."

"Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine?" he murmurs, most likely not meant for me to hear. I heard it anyway.

"I never said I was," I mutter. "And you'd better remember that."

We reach the infirmary in silence, where I hand him over to the nurse.

"Initiate?" she asks, inspecting the bruise, pursing her pierced lips. "I swear the injuries keep getting worse every year."

Of course they do. Because Dauntless is becoming more and more ruthless.

My responsibility over, I hasten towards the training room. But I haven't gone halfway through when one of my coworkers from the control room hurries up to me.

"There you are, Four! There's a virus attack in one of the computers; they don't seem to be able to fix it. Gus asked for you."

"I'm a bit occupied at the moment," I grit out. "Can't it wait?"

"He said it was urgent. Can't you spare a few minutes? You seem to be taking a walk anyway."

I clench my fists, but accepting defeat, head to the control room. It takes me quite a long time in fixing the bug, and I can't help check my watch every few minutes.

"In a hurry?" Gus asks me once I am finished with the work.

"I have got initiates to train."

"Isn't Eric watching over them?"

"Yes, he is. I wanted to do so myself."

He shrugs. "Thanks for the good work, boy. I knew there was a reason I kept you around."

I take the elevator to quickly reach my destination. But I don't have to go to the training room; the sight at the Pit makes me stop short.

There are people collected near the Chasm. My first thought is that someone has taken the Jump, but a closer look tells me that they are initiates. _My_ initiates — the transfers. I notice Eric standing very close to the railing, and then, past the railing — I inhale sharply. Two of the initiates are hanging from the railing, hanging over the Chasm. Two of the girls. And even from a distance, it is not difficult to tell who they are — Christina, and Tris.

My first impulse is to push Eric right into the Chasm. What does he think he is doing? Who gave him the right to risk the lives of initiates like this? I begin to stride towards him angrily, only to stop myself. There is nothing I can do here. Eric will not take back his decisions because of me. If anything, our altercation might distract Tris and Christina, causing them to fall. So I stand at the back of the group, unnoticed by everyone else, watching helplessly. Every muscle, every nerve ending in my body stands on end. I have no idea how long they have been hanging, how long they have to hang on. My eyes stay glued on Tris. She has one hand placed over Christina's, supporting her. I almost laugh at the irony. Tris, supporting Christina. Knowing her, she put her head up in Eric's plan, causing her to join her friend. She is holding on to the metal rod desperately, her eyes wide and blazing with determination. Even as I feel my insides churning with frantic anxiety, I acknowledge the strange beauty I find at the sight, in her strength. She looks determined, brave, strong, _beautiful_. At her breaking point, in this trial of strength, she looks different, _a_ _wake, s_ o different from the demure girl who appears before everyone else. It is a strange thought, the fascination I feel for her as I stare, even as my heart beats frantically for her.

Suddenly, her hand slips, presumably from the lashing of cold water from the cascade flowing below. She gasps, her eyes terrified as she hangs on with only the hand latched onto the railing over Christina's. Beside her, Christina scrambles to regain her grip.

"Come on, Tris!" Al's calls out. "Come on, Christina! One minute left!" I feel grateful to him. At least there is someone in there who is _human_. Because the others, they have turned mute with their malice or their terror. So the girls have only one minute left. Thank God. But my relief drains almost immediately as I look at Tris. She is too small, too weak, she won't be able to make it. She'll fall. No, no, she can't fall. She mustn't fall.

Tris is still gasping, struggling to regain her hold on the railing. Her eyes are wide. And then they suddenly find mine. I stare into the depths of the beautiful gray-blue orbs, suddenly feeling the world narrow down to just us and the roar of the river, wondering what she can see in my eyes — if she can read the anger, terror and frantic anxiety that I feel. And then something shifts in their depths, and her expression hardens into one of supreme determination, and impossibly, she throws her hand out and reaches the railing again.

"Five minutes are up," Al spits the words out.

Eric checks his watch, drawing out every second.

"Fine," he says, sounding almost bored. "You can come up, Christina, Tris." Al walks toward the railing.

"No," Eric says. "They have to do it on their own." I feel the urge to throttle him.

"No, they don't," Al growls. "Christina did what you said. She's not a coward. And Tris..." He trails off, his voice laced with awe.

Eric shrugs, and Al steps up to help Christina. I want to tell him to help Tris first, but I suppose Christina has been at it for a longer time, hence the choice.

I watch with relief as Christina is pulled over the railing, gasping and spluttering and panting. The trial's over. But then, a high wave rises in the Chasm, colliding hard with Tris' back. Both of her hands slip.

I don't know when I thought, or if I thought at all. All I know is that before I am even conscious of my actions, I am running towards the Chasm, and then my arms are holding hers, and I am pulling her over, cradling her to my chest. Emotions rampage in my head and heart, making me wonder if I will just burst.

"What were you thinking?" I say through gritted teeth, anger being in the fore of the band of emotions, lashing out at her, because that is just how I am. "Do you have any regard for your safety at all?"

She opens her mouth to reply, but I suddenly notice the compromising position we are in, and how I can feel every curve of her body through her cold, drenched clothes, and I put her down. This is not the best place to talk, nor the best time or situation. What she needs now is comforting, maybe, or praise, and those things I am not good at, so I storm off. Her friends will take care of her.

I walk into the training room, feeling the need to release the pent up tension, and start raining blows on the nearest punching bag. I continue doing so till my shirt becomes drenched in sweat, till my muscles relax from the uncomfortable coils they had formed.

"Look at you. Did you get all riled up?" a voice remarks snidely from the door. I turn towards it slowly.

"Eric, give me any one reason I should not break every bone in your body, right now?" I say very quietly.

He doesn't look even remotely afraid. "There are several, in fact, starting with the fact that I," he places his hand on his chest, "am a leader, and I have the right to do anything I want with my subordinates."

"Even making them hang on over the Chasm so they fall to their death?" I say through gritted teeth.

"It was a test of strength," says Eric, shrugging. "I did tell them all that conceding was not an option, and yet Christina gave up. She proved herself a coward, so it was necessary to have her prove her worth dome other way."

"Giving up when you can't fight anymore is not cowardice, Eric. It's acceptance."

He raises an eyebrow at me. "I don't need you to give me lessons, _Tobias_. Last time I checked, I was the leader, not you."

I clench my fists, devoid of a retort. This is where Eric got ahead of me, with my refusal to be a leader.

"That Tris girl has more stuff than appears," Eric adds almost absentmindedly. "I'd keep an eye on her if I were you."

 _Don't worry, I will. To ensure that you don't lay a finger on her_.

"Keep on with your punching, then. Good night," Eric adds pleasantly, his eyes dangerous. "And mind you don't break one of those." Smirking, he walks away.

I stand, alone once again, shaking with anger. I hate how easily he gets under my skin.

With a growl of frustration, I start hitting the punching bag again.


	3. More Questions and Strange Feelings

**Eh, this chapter ended up way longer than I had expected it to be. Hope you like it!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 3: More Questions and Strange Feelings**_

I don't know how long it has been when I stop venting my anger out on the punching bag. Every inch of my body is covered in sweat. I let my hands drop, flopping down to the floor. I look at my knuckles. They are red, and in a few spots, purple with ugly bruises; the spots hurt when I touch them. But I don't mind. I needed this practice. I needed to hit as hard as I could and as long as my strength would permit, imagining the punching bag to be Eric and the rest of the negative thoughts oppressing me as well as my tormenting, conflicting emotions. And now that it's over, I feel normal again. Like all the tension coiled up in me like a tightened spring has finally left.

I peel my sweaty shirt off my body, letting it dry up, sitting on the floor shirtless. The day has been exhausting, even when I haven't really done anything. The vision of Tris hanging over the Chasm makes its way into my mind again, and I forcefully push it away. I do not wish to have to hit away for another hour.

When my body is cooled down and my shirt dry enough to be worn, I slip it over me, putting my jacket over it which I had discarded on the floor when I started to train, and walk out of the room, shutting the door behind me.

The hallway is quiet, completely silent; I must have been in the training room longer than I thought. I take a left turn to reach the Pit, and as I turn towards the secluded corridor leading to my apartment, I am stopped by the sound of sobbing floating in the air.

I freeze. The Dauntless never cry, at least they don't in public. Tears have been made into a sign of weakness. However sad things go, or however horrible, they try to take it with an easy grin and a laugh, or a punch to the face. I have seen it in Amar and in Zeke among other people; it is one of the things I respect about the Dauntless. It is not like they are any more fearless or powerful than everyone else; it's just that they have learnt to hide their weaknesses or overcome them, and therein lies their strength.

According to my assumptions, the person should not be a resident Dauntless. That leaves the transfers. And them giving way to tears would not be surprising; the Dauntless initiation is gruelling, and even in my time as an initiate, most of my dorm-mates had cried to sleep at night. Whoever this person may be, I should go check.

I quickly make my way towards the sound, which leads me towards the Chasm. I see the figure as I walk towards it; I have to stop short when am close enough to recognize it — kneeling on the floor, her hands clutching the railing like a lifeline, the small frame shaking with sobs, the mass of long blonde hair, tousled from bed. It's Tris, without doubt.

For seconds, I can't move. I just stare at her as she cries, and her sobs are so heartbreaking... She shouldn't be crying like this, _no one_ should be crying like this. It drives a wedge through my heart, the way she just seems to be breaking apart before me. I find it difficult to believe what I see, especially after the incredible strength of will she has shown in the last two days, ever since we met. What could have happened to her to break her down like this?

I take careful steps closer to her until we are at touching distance. "Tris? What is it?" I ask her tentatively.

She swivels around, her body recoiling with fear and shock, and faces me. Her blue-gray eyes are bloodshot and swimming with tears, tears which run down in little rivulets all over her face. Recognition flashes in her eyes. For a beat, she stares at me with wide eyes, her lips parted slightly, even as I look at her in silence. Then, to my horror, she starts to sob again, even harder.

 _What—?_

"What happened?" I ask her urgently. "Tris, what's wrong?" But she doesn't say anything, only shaking her head and crying. She hiccups and gasps, pinching her eyes shut. The front of her shirt is wet with her tears.

Okay, so it seems that I won't be getting any information from her. I sink down on my knees, crouching lower so we are at the same level. She looks so vulnerable, so broken. Who could have done this to her, or what?

I have no experience at comforting whatsoever; emotional issues have always been my weakness. I used to console my mother when I was young, after Marcus was done beating the crap out of her and I was let out of the tiny closet. We would both be crying then. But that was a long time ago. Tears have always made me uncomfortable, making me want to run away in the other direction. But with Tris, I reach towards her unthinkingly. I don't know what I am doing, or how, but I just do. I only know that I need her to stop crying, that I need her to be okay.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, Tris, shhh," I tell her softly in what I hope is a soothing tone. I squat down to the floor, opening my arms out to her, an invitation for an embrace. I am not used to hugging, but admittedly, it is a nice feeling once you stop being stiff. There is a strange softness of physical comfort this gesture offers, doing a greater job than words.

 _Why should she hug you_? my subconscious sneers. _She is a Stiff, and she doesn't even know you well._

But surprising me, she crawls into my embrace almost immediately, resting her head on my chest. Our position feels strange; I have never let anyone touch me so intimately, but it feels a good kind of strange, funnily enough. I don't feel awkward with her so close to me, it just feels _— right._ Maybe it is the way she is relaxing against my touch, her posture giving off an air of trust. I gently rock her in my arms, even as my shirt gets soaked with her tears. Slowly, her sobs subside, and her breathing deepens. I don't know how long it is that I sit with her, two strangers in such an intimate position, and yet not feeling like strangers at all. I close my eyes, resting my forehead on the top of her head, marveling at how perfectly she fits in my embrace. I don't know where these thoughts are coming from, or how I am so comfortable with her pressed against me when I don't even let most people touch me, but for the moment, I just push my brooding to the side, deciding to think about all that later.

When I open my eyes after a few minutes, I see that her breathing has evened out, and her eyes are shut, her face pressed against my chest. She has fallen asleep. I can't help the upward curving of my lips at the adorable picture she makes, her hair tumbling messily down her back. I'll need to get her to bed. Very carefully shifting my weight so that I am cradling her like one would a bride, and very slowly, so as to not wake her up, I stand up. I test her weight in my arms; it's no natter at all, she feels feather light. Taking a deep breath, I slowly begin walking towards the tranfers' dormitory. Tris shifts in her sleep, burying her face deeper in my chest, tickling me a little. I feel a small tug at my shirt, and look down to see that Tris has gripped the front of my shirt, the fabric bunched in her fist. It makes me chuckle.

She mumbles something incoherently into my shirt. I blink, straining to hear what it might be. Sleep-talking is a great tool for studying people's psychology; it is a direct link to their dreams, and hence, to some level, their subconscious. Where all the guards are down.

Tris shifts a little in my arms, letting out a breathy sigh.

"Mhmm... Tobias..." she murmurs. I nearly drop her in shock. Did I hear her right? Did she... did she just say 'Tobias'?

As if to confirm my suspicion, Tris starts talking again. "Tobias..." she whispers. "You don't have to..."

Okay, there is no mistake this time. She definitely said my name. But how can she possibly know my real name? No one in Dauntless knows my real identity, other than Amar, who is dead, Zeke, who I trust will never divulge my secret, and Eric, who I am sure is not in talking terms with Tris. I have changed myself so much since I came here, I doubt even my fellow initiates remember who I was, and even they never learnt my real name. First I was 'Stiff', and after that, I have always been 'Four', thanks to Amar. And yet here is this girl, uttering my name in her sleep. Could it be that she recognized me from Abnegation? But it can't be... I definitely don't remember her, so we could not have been close. I never really stepped out of my room when there were guests in the house anyway; Marcus never permitted it. It wouldn't do for his perfect reputation to have his beaten up son show up in public, would it? My jaw clenches as I think of him.

No, Tris can't possibly recognize me. No one has ever connected Tobias Eaton, faction traitor, with Four, Dauntless 'prodigy'. _She_ of all people can't have. Maybe it is some other Tobias she is talking about. _How many people called Tobias have you known?_ Admittedly, none other than myself. But I don't understand; none of this makes sense. I just stop thinking. I'll bust my brains if I go on.

I realize that I have reached the transfer dorm. Very careful not to make a noise, I walk into the room, where I had slept two years ago. Only one bunk is unoccupied, so I know it is Tris'. I navigate through the dark, reaching my destination. I lower Tris onto the bed, and begin to pull away, but her grip on my shirt stops me. I carefully begin to pry her fingers off me. She whimpers.

I chuckle softly, finally managing to get her hold off me.

"No, don't go..." she moans.

"Tris, shh," I whisper, pressing a finger to her lips. "We don't want your friends to wake up, do we?"

Thankfully, she takes the cue even in her sleep, making no more noise. Her body curls up in a ball, making her seem even smaller. I can't take my eyes off her. She must be cold. Her nightdress is so thin (and I avert my eyes from how it accentuates the subtle curves of her body, but I notice all that anyway). Will her sheets be enough? On an impulse, I take off my jacket, lightly draping it over her. She emits a small, contented sigh, shifting deeper into it, making me smile a little. At least we have established that she won't be cold. I cover her with the sheet up to her shoulder, the black material of my jacket peeking from under it, and step back.

"Sleep well, Tris," I whisper, and quietly walk back to my apartment.

-o0o-

I myself don't sleep well that night. Once the concern of seeing Tris safely to her bed has been done with, the issues bothering me crowd into my mind. I take a quick shower before going to bed, but that doesn't seem to be helping much. I drop down on the bed. I thought that I had enough to deal with where the girl was concerned, but she seems to be getting all the more puzzling with each passing day. How much more will the mystery stretch? First her unexpectedly excellent skills, then her ease in shedding her Abnegation traits and blending in with her new faction, and now her heartbreaking tears and her saying my name in her sleep. The first two I can attribute to her being a misfit; maybe she was never bound by the restraints of her faction (although a small voice in my head reminds me that it doesn't quite explain her expertise at fighting), but the last two? I don't know. What could have made her cry so much? Could her trial by the Chasm have affected her that much? I don't think so. Is she homesick? Maybe. Who knows? I make a mental note to ask her about it when I get the chance.

Then this last thing. What was _that_ all about? I don't understand how much she knows about me, and it makes me insecure. And yet I don't know how to confront her about it; she seems like two different people at different times — first asking me if I transferred, and then actually saying my name in her sleep. Perhaps I am looking too much into this... maybe it isn't about me at all, but some other Tobias she might have known. I decide to let the issue slide for now.

And even as I close my eyes, I think of the subject I have refused to acknowledge till now — the strange feelings rising in me ever since I saw her. We have known each other all of three days, and yet she has an effect on me that no other girl ever had. I have never thought of girls romantically, even when they have thrown themselves at me, my Abnegation upbringing holding me back. Besides, I have never managed to trust anyone. But Tris is different. There is something in her which makes it difficult for me to look away from her, which makes me notice the tiniest things about her. I have been thinking about her more than I have about any girl in my life. Something makes me keep a look out for her, and yet it is not doubt at her capabilities that I feel. No, the first impulse I have when I see her is to press her so tight that she breaks, that she shows the burning flame she keeps within. I remember my fascination as I watched her struggle to hold on to the railing — that fire is what I want, which pulls me in. That is a girl like no other; she is a mystery.

Sleep doesn't seem to be my friend tonight. I toss and turn, trying to empty my head of the thoughts circling around. When I finally do fall asleep, I dream that Tris is hanging from the railing over the Chasm, tears running down her face. "Tobias, help me!" she calls out. I try to reach out to her, but somehow, I can't move a step. Her hands slip. "Tobias! Please!" she screams, and she falls down, down, down, until I can't see her anymore. _This is for your own good_ , — the whisper carries in the air as I scream out her name.

I wake up in cold sweat, my heart hammering.

Well, that just promised a sleepless night for me.

-o0o-

I walk into the training room to find Eric already there, pairing up transfers on a sheet of paper.

"You're early," I say with some surprise.

" _You're_ late," he retorts. "What, had nightmares after what you saw last night? Couldn't stand the sight of little girls giving a little trial of strength?"

I try not to let his words get to me. "What happened to me is none of your business," I snap.

"Ouch. I get it why you don't get any girls, Four. I bet they run away screaming when you look at them."

I refuse to reply, but Eric's words stick in my head. Is that the truth? Am I so busy keeping my defenses up that I have become unapproachable? Why does it matter anyway if girls are intimidated by me? It's not like I'm interested in them. Suddenly, the image of Tris comes to my mind. She certainly has not been intimidated by me. Ugh, why does _that_ matter anyway?

Eric thrusts the sheet at my chest. "Here. Today's fights."

I look at the list. The empty slot at the name list is beside Myra, so Tris must have a fight today. I scan down the list — Edward paired with Molly, there's no question in who will win here, Will and Christina, Al and Drew... I stop breathing. Tris has her fight with Peter.

I notice Eric looking at me very carefully, searching for a reaction. Has he noticed that among the initiates, I am most concerned about Tris? I nod at him, careful not to give away any emotion.

"I'll copy it out."

"What do you think? Did I pair well?" Eric's tone is condescending. It is clear that he doesn't really care what I think; he just wants to see if he riled me up successfully. I'm not going to give him the satisfaction.

"Apart from the fact that I don't like your new rules, I see no problems in this," I say neutrally. "The pairings are fine. Although," I smirk, mirroring some of Eric's nonchalant cruelty, "I feel sorry for poor Molly. She going to go down hard."

"She did have her first taste of victory," Eric says, grinning. "I figured she should have some taste of loss too. Can't let them get too cocky." I nod amiably. One would think we are good friends, except that my blood is boiling at the sight of him. My hand shakes slightly as I write Peter's name beside Tris. I don't want this fight to happen.

The initiates enter soon after, and I notice Tris freezing as she sees the name beside hers on the board. Then she walks on, acting as if nothing had happened. The boy Al walks in with her, and stands close to her too. For some reason, it tugs at my already shortened temper.

Christina walks in after Tris. She looks bruised and beaten up, limping slightly.

"Are they serious? They're really going to make _you_ fight _him_?" she says to Tris, gaping at the board. Her eyes stray to Peter. "What's up with his nose?"

At her words, I look at the boy too. His nose is bent at an awkward angle, and bandaged in places.

"Tris punched him," Al informs her.

"Wow! You rule, girl!" Christina laughs, thumping Tris in the back. I have to repress the urge to do the same. Tris just smiles modestly.

"Maybe you can just take a few hits and pretend to go unconscious," I hear the boy Al suggest to Tris. "No one would blame you."

"Yeah," Tris says. "Maybe." I shake my head silently; Al does not know Tris at all if he thinks she is going to back down.

Molly and Edward's fight goes just as expected. Molly's uncoordinated strength stands no chance against Edward's combination of strength and technique. The fight comes to a close within ten minutes. As Molly drags herself from the floor, only half-conscious, I notice that Eric doesn't even ask her to fight further, only waves her off to the infirmary, supported by Edward. His dark eyes are bright and hungry. He is eager for the next fight. It makes me nauseous.

Peter and Tris make their way into the ring. Tris looks tense; I don't blame her. Admirably, she doesn't look afraid. She steals a glance at me as she readies herself in the combat posture, and our eyes meet for a moment. Perhaps I should nod at her or something, or even try for a reassuring smile or maybe a thumbs up, but my entire body feels stiff with tension. She looks away.

The two start off, circling each other warily. Neither goes for the first blow.

"You two having a good time there?" Eric shouts impatiently. "Want to hang out all day?"

Peter flushes with anger, but Tris holds her composure. He swings a punch at her. Tris ducks quickly. Peter tries again a few times, but Tris manages to dodge the blow every time. I silently praise her quick reflexes. But she can't evade the blows forever.

"Going to keep running away, Stiff?" Peter taunts, his frustration showing on his face. "Wait, you aren't _afraid_ , are you?"

Knowing her quick temper, I expect Tris to retaliate unthinkingly, but she shows more maturity by holding out for a few more minutes, before seeking out an opening and landing a strong punch in Peter's gut. It was well-aimed, well-timed and executed well. Peter stumbles back with a groan. I feel a sudden urge to pump my fist in the air.

Tris uses her chance to punch Peter some more times, and then kicks him. It is almost unbelievable how well she is fighting, her moves better planned than most of the initiates I have seen so far. Her confidence and skills shine through, as if speaking for considerable practice. Eric leans forward, his expression one of extreme interest. Yes, a little Stiff girl holding out for so long, and actually doing well in a fight with a boy nearly twice her weight is something one has to take interest in.

Just when the fight seems to be in Tris' hands, Peter manages to land a punch on her ear. It is a delicate spot, important for maintaining one's equilibrium. Dizzied, Tris stumbles back, and Peter immediately takes his chance and hits out at her. Once that starts, it is clear that Tris has lost her advantage. But the fight doesn't go out of her; every time she falls, she struggles back up again. She blocks a few of Peter's punches, and even lands some of her own. But I can see all too well that it will not be enough. Peter has steadied himself, and he won't let Tris take the lead again. I watch, the hair on my back rising, as Tris falls, struggles to her feet, falls, rises again. Bruises bloom on her face and arms; it is evident from her disoriented look that she is losing track of what is happening. But her arms keep moving, her legs keep moving.

I can't watch anymore. I can't just stand here, watching her take blow after blow, knowing that I can do nothing. My eye drifts to Eric and the look of interest on his face. I don't know whom I want to hurt more, him or Peter. My nails dig so hard into my palms that I wonder if they've broken the skin yet.

I just can't watch her falling. I can't hear the sound of flesh against flesh, of her screams of frustration and pain. I storm out of the room.

I stand in the corridor outside, breathing hard, and with a growl of frustration, punch the wall. My knuckles reply with a painful crunch, and with the throb that immediately develops in them, I know that I'll need to see Jane today. The noises of the fight have faded with my distance, but I can still here Tris' screams, and the sound of blows falling.

 _Coward_ , my subconscious sneers. What am I doing here, unable to take the sight of her in pain, when she is inside, taking blow after blow without conceding, still fighting back? I feel disgusted at my weakness. I need to go back in.

I take long, deep breaths, counting from one to ten, and when I am sure that I have my desire to strangle Peter at the very sight of him under control, I flex my aching right hand and walk back to the training room.

I shut the door behind me in time to see her crash to the floor from Peter's kick and lie there, moving feebly. Something inside me snaps.

"Enough!" I shout. My voice booms through the silent training room. Peter, about to aim another kick at Tris' now unconscious form, backs off.

"This fight is over," I say, struggling to rein my voice in to the quiet tone of the instructor. "Peter, you win." I glare at Eric, challenging him to question me, but he simply smirks and shrugs.

He raises his hands to clap slowly. The sound rings through the room.

"That was a good fight," he says. "Both combatants fought well. Take the Stiff to the infirmary, Four."

My immediate impulse is to scoop Tris in my arms and check her condition, but I force myself to circle off Peter's name in the board first.

"Next up, Al and Drew!" I call out. And then, forcefully slowing my pace to a normal walk as compared to the run that my feet want, I pick Tris up. Her face is bruised, as are her arms and legs, but they will heal. She feels too light my arms, like an injured bird, and I am reminded of how I held her against me last night. It's difficult not to let the heat creep up my neck.

Peter wears a triumphant smirk, but his appearance is hardly any better than Tris. Eric must notice it too, because he says, "Take the boy with you too, Four. I'm sure Jane would want a look at him."

It takes Peter a while to realize that the 'boy' referred to is him. His face flushes red.

"I am okay," he says. "I won. No need of the infirmary for me."

"Don't argue with me, initiate," Eric says with a hint of menace in his tone. "What I am saying is for your own good. You look like a wreck. It won't do for us to have you crying for your mommy in your next fight."

"What's the problem, Peter?" I can't help taunt him, a grin on my face, "Did it hurt your ego that you got bruised up by a little Stiff girl?" Laughter fills the room, everyone joining in. Peter's face turns even redder; he scowls.

"Come along. We don't have all day," I say coldly, before marching out with Tris.

Peter's company doesn't allow me to feel too intimate with Tris, but I can't help notice the faint smattering of freckles over her prominently curved nose, and how her lips are so light a shade of pink. Her skin is pale, and the ugly purple bruises make it look even more so. But these bruises are not blemishes, they are her medallions in Dauntless, a sign of her strength and resilience.

I place her on one of the beds lined by the walls in the infirmary. Peter tries to slink off, but Jane catches him in time.

"No running off, boy," she tells him sternly. "On that bed you go, right now." We share a quiet laugh. Jane is in her mid-thirties; the combination of the innumerable piercings on her and her maternal attitude is almost ridiculous.

She pulls me into her office, closing the door behind her for privacy.

"Your hand looks like it needs attention, Four," she says.

"You have a quick eye for injuries," I murmur, letting her examine it.

"Cracked a couple joints, most likely," she says. "I'd like an x-ray to be sure. How did it happen?"

"Temper," I mutter, not elaborating.

"As always," she laughs. "I don't think you could handle a plaster, would you? I'll just bandage it and let it mend on its own."

I glance at Tris, visible on her bed through the gap in the door, as Jane takes care of the hand.

"Take care of her," I blurt out without thought as I turn to leave.

"You know I will," she says and looks at me shrewdly. "So, is she the one?"

"The one?" I look at her, confused.

"I've known you since you were a scrawny initiate, Four, and all these years, I have never seen you care for a girl. You like her, don't you?"

I feel my face heat up. "I don't know what you're talking about," I mutter. "I've cared for Shauna."

"Like a sister," Jane says. "This isn't very sisterly, I think."

I shake my head at her, rolling my eyes, but the thought of considering Tris like my little sister makes me feel a little sick.

"You're being silly. She's just an initiate."

"Of course she is," Jane murmurs, giving a final tug on the bandage. "There. Done. Now off you go."

I walk out of the door and across the ward, my eyes drifting over to Tris one final time as I move out of the infirmary. Behind me, I think I hear Jane laugh quietly.

-o0o-

I walk back to the training room in time to see Will and Christina's fight. I look at the board — Drew's name has been circled.

"The fight's over already?" I mutter to Eric. "I don't think I was gone ten minutes."

"That Al guy was totally useless," Eric comments, making me glance at the boy slouching by the wall. "He took a few hits and went unconscious. I bet he was faking. A total loser, that one."

I look at Al, surprised. I was expecting him to have potential, to do well in the fights. He had defeated Will too easily yesterday. But then I realize from the boy's defeated posture and sad eyes, that the problem is not in his strength. It's in his reluctance to fight. Well, that's a demon he'll have to fight on his own.

"Initiates, you will be having a field trip tomorrow," Eric announces when the fight is over, and Will pulls away a nearly unconscious Christina. "You will be shown the work Dauntless do at the fence, which is the job many of you will be taking unless you make it to the top five. I want everyone by the tracks by eight fifteen. Be late, and you're left out."

There are murmurs and nods from the initiates, and then they are dismissed and slowly file out of the room.

I still have a few minutes' time before my shift at the control room. I wander in the corridor, somehow feeling like I want to see Tris. I can't pinpoint the reason, but there is this urge to talk to her, so I let my feet lead me towards the infirmary. But when I am close to the door, I hear laughter come from inside, and several voices. Tris' friends must be there with her. No go, then. I turn away and walk to the Pire, feeling a stab of disappointment. I tend to take the stairs to reach the control room, even though I have to climb eight floors. Anything better than the closed tiny space of the elevator. Gus nods at me as I walk in, and I plug in the headphones and stare at the screen, losing myself once again in the dimmed activity of this broken city.

-o0o-

I stand by the tracks, waiting for all of the initiates to arrive. I glance down at my watch. It's ten minutes past eight. The train is scheduled at Dauntless at eight fifteen. I run my eyes over the initiates, performing a quick head count. Seven. It doesn't take much to notice that it's Tris and Christina who are missing. I try to push away the worry, but it nags me anyway. I didn't see Tris after the fights; Jane had told me that both Peter and she had slunk off sometime in the night. She'd assured me that the injuries weren't bad, they'd heal soon. But that doesn't stop me from looking towards the headquarters anxiously. What's keeping them?

Two minutes before the train's arrival, I see Tris and Christina running up to the tracks and stopping at the back of the crowd, Tris holding a small piece of a muffin. She doesn't look too good, but not too bad either. Her skills and quick reflexes saved her. I look away from her before our eyes can meet.

I easily jump onto the train carriage as it arrive, the other initiates following me. Standing in the carriage, I see Al helping Tris up. It sends a spark of unreasonable annoyance through me.

While the initiates sit, I stand at the door, leaning my head out while gripping the handles. It provides a sense of freedom and a certain reckless abandon, with the wind in my hair; I love it. I hear the initiates talk, and try to ignore it; the constant babble is an annoyance. Peter starts insulting Tris, and with Christina and Will defending her, it quickly escalates to a full blown argument. I feel the beginnings of a headache. For all my excellence in fights and my intimidating attitude, I hate confrontations. My wonderful childhood ensured it.

"Am I going to have to listen to your bickering all the way to the fence?" I snap at Peter. That bullying jerk. At the same time, Tris says tiredly, "No one wants to hear what you want to say, Peter." I look at her, and our eyes meet. A light blush steals up her cheek as she stares at me, her eyes wide. What wouldn't I give to know what is going on behind those sharp gray eyes. Tris looks away from me first. I look at her for a few more seconds, then get back to looking outside. The cityscape changes with every passing miles, the establishments thickening and thinning out, sometimes well kept, sometimes broken. The buildings grow sparser and largely abandoned as we near the fence. I wonder what is outside of the city, what the danger is that my faction members are protecting us from. I wonder if anyone knows, and why no one asks. I have the security code which can lead me out; maybe someday I'll step out and explore the world, if there is any more of it outside.

"You do, don't you? Ooh!" Christina's shrill voice breaks me out of my musings. "Tris loooves—"

I turn around to see Tris hurriedly placing her hand over Christina's mouth, silencing her, her face very red. A trickle of cold floods through my body. So she loves someone? Who could it be? Al, maybe? He definitely has a crush on her. Or Will? He is good looking enough, and witty too. _Stop it, Four!_ I'm beginning to sound like a prying, hormonal teenage girl. What do _I_ care if she likes someone? She's just an initiate.

But I cannot deny the bitterness that settles in my stomach for the rest of the journey.

The train stops by the fence, and everyone climbs down. It feels strange to actually have the train stop for climbing down, after ages of travelling on running ones.

I tell the initiates about the job opportunities and duties at the fence, before letting them off for a few minutes to explore by themselves before we return.

"Hey, Four!" I look at the fence to see May grinning at me. She was an initiate in my year, Erudite transfer.

"May." I offer her a half smile. "How's it going?"

"The same boring life of the fence," she says with a long suffering sigh. "Patrolling, saving the city from who-knows-what, such a valiant task!"

I shrug. "Never appealed to me either."

"Instructor duty again?" She looks around at the initiates. "I only see you about once a year, Four. How is that fair?"

"I'm around in the headquarters," I point out. "You aren't always at duty."

"You are always high up in the control room," May says.

"Come over for a game of Dare sometime, then," I offer. "I'll be free in a couple of weeks, once initiation is over. How's security, anyway? Things with the Amity?"

"Oh, y'know, the same. We have to check the supplies that come in and the facilities that go out. Max loaded security this year, so we have to double check everything now. And the Amity are always around, digging and planting and whatnot. Seriously, their happy vibe..."

I lose her as my attention is shifted by someone calling Tris' name. I turn around to see an Amity boy with curly blonde hair hugging her. Instantly, my insides feel like they are being clawed by something vicious. I feel the unreasonable urge to pull them apart and give the boy such a talking to that he won't dare turn to look at her again.

The smile that he wears and the conversational way in which they interact tell me that they know each other well. Is this the guy Tris likes? He is probably an Abnegation transfer if he knows her. Are they dating? _No, don't be stupid._ I know the Abnegation too well; they don't 'date'. Their courtship rituals consist of volunteering together, occasional dinners with each other's family, a slow, tentative, annoying process. But it might be that they like each other; they seem very comfortable together. My eyebrows twitch in anger, but I don't know why.

"...Four, were you even listening?" May's voice brings me back to reality.

"Huh?" I look at her, befuddled. "Um, no, sorry, I lost you there."

May's gaze travels to where mine had been a moment ago, and a knowing smile lifts her lips.

"Ah, so this is what it's all about."

"What is? What are you talking about?"

"That girl. You like her." May wears a smug smile.

"What?" I curse the way my voice goes an octave higher. "Of course not. She's my initiate."

"Keep telling yourself that." May rolls her eyes. "I saw you. You were green with envy."

I frown at her. "Why should I be jealous of anyone?"

May shakes her head. "You're so daft."

"Hey, careful how you talk." I give her my best intimidating quiet voice.

"Don't you try your scary tactic on me," she says, laughing. "Oh, the legendary, unapproachable hunk Four has a crush. Ha, that's so hilarious!"

I throw her a dirty look. "You're ridiculous."

"No, you are," she says, shaking her head. "Now go."

I shake my head at her strange behavior, but once the boy boards his bus and goes away, I walk over to Tris.

That's two people who have commented about me liking Tris. What the hell?

"I am worried that you have a knack for making unwise decisions," I tell her when I am a foot away from her. I shouldn't let my bitterness out on her, but I can't help it. She should be more careful about faction before blood, anyway.

"It was a two-minute conversation," Tris retorts defensively.

"I don't think a smaller time frame makes it any less unwise," I argue, still annoyed, at Tris, at the curly haired boy, at myself, and yet I don't know why.

I take another step closer to her so that we are at touching distance. I am suddenly aware of her perfume, one that had lingered in my mind last night even after I had put her to bed — Dauntless soap, simple and clean, and something sweet, soft, like ripe apples in the orchard. My fingers tingle to touch her, and unable to resist, I lift my hand to carefully rest my fingers on her bruise. She closes her eyes. It worries me momentarily that I might be hurting her, but she makes no attempt to draw away from my touch, so I let my hand linger.

"You fought better than I had expected," I compliment her quietly. She earned it yesterday, I never got to talk to her.

Tris opens her eyes, smiling shyly. "Thank you."

"You should keep up with the attack front," I suggest. "It will help."

She nods. I should drop my hand, now. I have been touching her much longer than is necessary, and certainly longer than is appropriate. But her warm, soft skin feels nice under my calloused fingers, and my hand refuses to move.

Her eyes shift from my face towards the direction of Amity, and her gaze mists over, seemingly lost in some memory. I watch as her cheeks redden, and she bites her lip, laughter in her eyes. Oh, how ignorant she is of how much sensuality the simple gesture of sticking that soft bottom lip between her teeth holds; it sends a pleasurable shiver through my body.

"What are you thinking?" I ask her curiously. I finally find the strength to drop my hand from her face, but end up prolonging even that little moment, my hand trailing down her face, along her jawline, before finally letting go. My heart skips a beat as I feel her shiver slightly.

"Nothing. Just some — nothing," she stammers, blushing.

I blink at her. What was that? Then a sudden thought crosses me — could she be thinking of that Amity boy? They seemed close, and if she had spent time with him there...

 _Stop being jealous! Even if that were the case, there's nothing you can do about it._

 _Who's jealous? Not me!_

Okay, May was right. I _am_ ridiculous, arguing with myself.

"What happened that night? By the Chasm, I mean," I say, diverting my thoughts to other, more pressing concerns.

Tris blushes. "I'd rather not talk about it. Oh, I never returned your jacket!"

I laugh. Of all things, she is worried about my jacket? "By all means, keep it," I say, feigning nonchalance, while a part of me I didn't even know existed dances a little jig at the thought of her keeping something of mine. Taking serious matters at hand, I test my theory. "Are you homesick?"

Tris stares at me like I have grown a second head. "What? No! I made my own choice. I am happy about it."

Okay, that one's gone, then.

I nod, pressing her again. "Then what made you cry?"

She looks down, completely flustered. Is she afraid of admitting her weakness?

"I told you, I don't want to talk about it."

I look at her sternly. She should trust me. I am her instructor. The reasons that made her break down that badly, if pressed inside, can damage her permanently. "Tris —"

The horn of the train interrupts me. Relief flashes in Tris' eyes.

"Looks like the train is here," she says, clearing her throat. "Let's go."

I frown at her, but helpless, get to my duty of calling the initiates over.

Instead of clearing up, the mystery of this girl just became even deeper. All these days, I was the one people tried to figure out, a puzzle that they couldn't solve. But now it seems that I am not the only one here with big secrets.


	4. On Top of the World

**Hi guys, hope you're all good! Once again, before I start, thank you so much for your incredible support. It's unbelievable that this story has notched up 23 reviews and so many favs and follows already; I wasn't expecting many people to be interested in this. So thank you!**

 **I don't know how this chapter is... I tried my best, but sometimes it is so difficult to 'be' Four, you know. I wish I knew how he really thought...**

 **And um, this chapter's too long, again. Am I making Four overthink? Tell me what you think about it!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 4: On Top of the World**_

I stare at my computer screen, an endless cycle of images running through them. The Pit, a lobby in the Pire, by the Chasm, near the net. The images just keep moving, a pause of mere ten seconds between each. My eyes get unfocused every few minutes. I blink repeatedly to keep myself focused. As much as the tedium of watching the constant flurry of activity multiplied by the quick succession of images may affect me, I should not let my attention slip. Lapse of attention, at a crucial moment, can cost a lot.

The last image of a crowd of boys drinking by the Chasm gives way to a footage of Max in his office. My attention immediately snaps to the screen. Max is typing in his computer, his fingers painstakingly searching out each key. Like most Dauntless, Max, who has spent most of his life with a gun slung on his back, has very limited experience with computers.

With a speed and ease that comes out of habit, I pull the footage out of rotation so that I can have a closer look at it. Max at his computer is not a common scene; it must mean that he is either accessing something important, or communicating with someone via email. The keyboard is in almost clear view of the camera. If I look closely, I can hazard an educated guess by the movement of his fingers which key he is pressing.

I hear footsteps behind me. Quickly, I type in a command to save the footage, so that I can peruse it at opportunity in the relative privacy of my computer here. Just as the video footage disappears from the screen, I feel someone stand behind me.

"Is something the matter, Four?" Gus asks me.

"No," I say, my jaw clenching almost unconsciously. "Why?"

"I thought I saw you very focused on the screen. Something wrong out there?" Gus' piercing gray eyes pin me, and it's a struggle to stay stoic.

"I thought I saw a disturbance," I lie quickly.

"Oh?" Gus raises an eyebrow. "What did you find?"

"Nothing very important, it turns out," I say smoothly, regaining my composure. "Just a couple making out by the chasm beyond the railing." I _had_ actually seen two punks beyond the railings just minutes ago, so it isn't even a lie.

"Hmm." Gus nods. "We should get someone to shoo them off; wouldn't want the young love at the bottom of the chasm." He chuckles a little. "You should go, in fact. It's late anyway, and I'm sure you have a busy day ahead tomorrow."

I nod, and leaving my computer, walk out of the control room. Frustration burns in my mind and heart. Nothing yet again. Amar's death had made me suspicious of the role of Dauntless leaders and the close association between Max and Jeanine. I know for sure that Jeanine is after the Divergent, and Amar's death was a result of that. Last year, I had two initiates who were Divergent, and I successfully managed to get them past initiation. I don't know how many of the individuals I am training will turn out to be Divergent. Is Tris one of them? I don't know, but I have a sneaking suspicion that she is.

I have known for a while that something is going on between Max and Jeanine. Something bigger than just the hunt for the Divergent. But I am yet to figure out what it is. I have spied on a few of their meetings from the control room, but have learnt nothing useful, and got caught most of the time. I need to be more careful. I think of the footage saved in my computer. Hopefully that will be something useful.

Instead of heading to my apartment, I end up walking to the bar. I know that sleep won't come easily tonight; I don't feel the least trace of tiredness. I am not a big drinker; I prefer to stay away from alcohol, because it more often than not leads to losing control, and I hate that. But tonight I figure that a sip or two can't hurt, just to let the constantly nagging thoughts crowding around my mind take a back seat.

Jeremy, the burly bartender, hands me a bottle as I sit down and toss him one of the points which we use to buy the things we need. Lowering my eyes to the rock-cut bar, I take a sip of the drink. It's foul tasting and it burns, but I don't really care.

I don't know what is wrong with me. I don't think I have felt so emotionally unstable and out of control in a long time. The truth is, over time, my stay in Dauntless had become a habit, as a home should be. It is true that I was never at peace, what with the discovery of my mother being alive, being constantly wary of the ongoing plans of Divergent hunt and the other matters that have been going on, and ceaselessly butting heads with Eric. But this time, it feels like my whole world has suddenly been shaken hard once more and set upside down. And all because of a girl. I laugh into my drink, bitterness in the sound. Who would have thought?

I don't know what to think about Tris. I don't even know how I feel about her. After the visit to the fence yesterday, I have kept my distance from her, as I have from all of my initiates. It is a habit I cannot break, this lack of trust; while I say that my lack of approachability is for their benefit, in reality it is my own shield, to guard my secrets and insecurities. But though I did not interact with Tris, I have kept a close watch on her. What I saw only added to my earlier observation — she is shockingly comfortable in this faction already. This morning, I saw her joking around with Uriah and Marlene in the morning, like they were old friends. It is not as if she is a socialite; she is actually very quiet and withdrawn, and yet she shows strong likes and dislikes towards certain people. Again, I can come to no explanation for this. I take pride in my ability to solve riddles, but where she is concerned, I seem to run into a dead end again and again.

My mind flashes back to what Jane and May had insinuated. _Do_ I like Tris? At first thought, the idea seems absurd. But I think of how much time I have spent thinking about her, and the way I had felt when I touched her, and everything else that has happened in these last few days, and all of it just seems to be heading in one direction. I groan, my forehead hitting the glass of the bottle.

"What, down from the ivory tower and into the slums?" I look up to see Shauna sitting down on the stool beside me.

"Shauna," I greet her shortly. I feel less than inclined for a conversation now, the alcohol making me even more withdrawn than usual.

"Four," she returns with raised eyebrows, her eyes looking at me analytically. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I mutter, taking another sip of my drink.

"Yeah, nothing's wrong. I leave for fence duty seeing you happier than I have in a long time, even making jokes and all, and I come back to find you drinking this foul stuff late at night. You hardly ever drink, Four. And then you say nothing's wrong."

I throw her a withering look. "What do you want, Shauna?"

She glares at me. "Must I want something? Is it so wrong to be concerned about my best friend? Why is it so hard for you to accept that people care about you, even after we have known each other for two years?"

She reaches out to touch me, and I jerk away out of habit. I immediately feel bad when I see the hurt in her eyes.

"Sorry," I mutter. "Difficult to get the habit out."

She nods, and reaches for me carefully, like she is touching a wild animal. When her arm drapes around my shoulder, it actually feels nice.

"So, are you going to tell me?" Shauna says quietly.

"There's nothing to tell."

"Four," she sighs, "I know you are very good at keeping secrets, but it's just not working this time."

I look at her. I do need to get this off my chest; unlike the rest of the things I hide from people, this is gnawing me through.

"You'll tell no one?"

"Of course. You know it."

I sigh, running my hand over my face.

"I think I might like someone," I admit.

Shauna stares at me. "You _think_ you _might_ like someone."

I clear my throat awkwardly. "Uh, yeah? What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Shauna shakes her head. "Nothing. So, you like someone. That's great news! Why is your expression like someone just died?"

I look down. "I —"

"Is she taken?"

I look up. "What? No!" _Although she probably does like someone else..._ "It's — she's an initiate."

"Ah. Which one?"

"Tris."

Shauna looks at me blankly for a while.

"The Stiff," I elaborate.

"Oh." Realization dawns on her face. "Um. Right. Wow. Uh, first jumper, right?"

I nod.

"That's great. She, uh —"

I can see that she doesn't find what I see in Tris. To her, Tris must be just a plain, small girl, about to get kicked out at the earliest. That's what most people might think of her at first sight. But they are just so wrong.

"I'm not going to act on it, of course," I say.

Shauna's eyes narrow. "And why not, exactly?"

"She's an initiate, Shauna!" I burst out. "I'm her instructor. Do you realize what would happen if we dated? All her success would be attributed to favoritism."

"Well, maybe she _could_ do with some help..."

I shake my head. "You don't understand. You haven't seen her. She's different from them all. She is amazing at shooting and fighting. She is strong, and strangely fearless. Do you know she hung over the chasm for her friend? She stood up to Eric."

Shauna's eyes widen. "Wow, really? Not what she appears, then."

 _You have no idea_. I nod. "She's going to make it through initiation. She's going to beat them all, Shauna. I'm sure of it."

Shauna smiles. I stare at her. "What?"

"You should hear yourself talking about her," she says, still smiling. "You looked and sounded so... different." She laughs. "Oh, you have gotten it so bad, Four."

I feel my cheeks heat up. "We have known each other only five days, Shauna," I snap.

She looks at me, completely unfazed. "So?"

"It's too soon!"

"Well, they do talk about love at first sight," she points out. "After that, 'I think I might like someone'," she mimics me, "is completely reasonable after five days."

"Love at first sight is a lot of tosh," I scoff.

"Maybe," she shrugs. "Who knows? Now, have you told her yet?"

"Do I even need to answer that?" I stare at her pointedly.

"OK, got it." She sighs. "Will you ever?"

I put the bottle down on the bar. I stopped drinking when I started talking about Tris, and I am glad of the fact that my head is still clear. "I don't know."

"Four," Shauna says, her voice very grave, "I have known you for two years, and I have never seen you look twice at a girl, even when they have fallen at your feet. If you like Tris, she must be really special. Act out on your feelings. Everyone deserves happiness, Four. You are no exception."

"I'll think about it," I say, nodding. "Thank you, Shauna."

"That's what friends are for," she smiles, shrugging. Without warning, she snatches the bottle from me and tosses it to the bartender.

"Hey!" I protest.

"Dump this, Jerry," she says, ignoring me completely, and then looks at me. "You are not taking another drop of that stuff tonight," she admonishes. "Now, go to bed."

I laugh a little, rising from my seat. "Yes, mum." And sharing one last smile, we both head to our respective apartments.

-o0o-

I lean against the wall, watching as Edward drags Peter out of the ring. I just wish this stage would be over already; it's getting quite tiresome, not that I liked watching the fights any day. At least it's over for today. I run my gaze over the teenagers standing around the ring — Christina, sporting a split lip from last day's fight (she won easily today; she was pitted with Al), Will, breathing hard after his fight with Drew, who is in the infirmary, Myra, sitting on the floor, her head in her hands. She fought with Tris, and fell after a couple of blows, too dizzy to get up. The said small blonde girl is now staring at the floor, a frown on her face. I noticed how Tris seemed to have no heart in the fight today; she did not want to hurt an opponent who is weaker than her. Her Abnegation is showing.

I scan her face; the worse of her bruises have turned a dull blue-purple shade, while most of the others have faded out. She seems fine. She is hardy.

"You're dismissed, initiates," I tell them as per duty, and let them walk away. Tris looks up at the door and our eyes meet for a second. I can't help think of my conversation with Shauna last night. Then Christina puts her arm on Tris' shoulder, and together, they walk out.

"Hey." Eric walks towards me. "How about a game of Capture the Flag?"

"I was thinking about it," I say, nodding. "It's about time."

"Tonight?" Eric's eyes glint challengingly.

I shrug. "You're on."

"Get ready to be a sore loser."

"Really, Eric?" I quirk my eyebrow. "I seem to recall _you_ were in the team of sore losers for the last two years." I smirk.

Eric's face reddens; he scowls. "Careful, Four," he growls. "We'll see who's the loser tonight. Eleven o'clock. Stay sharp."

"Very well," I say, my eyebrows raised; I sometimes forget just how competitive Eric is.

-o0o-

Instead of changing into my bedclothes, I put on a T-shirt and a jacket for the night. At ten minutes to eleven, I head to the Pit, where the members who will be participating in the game have assembled. I notice that Shauna and Zeke are absent; Zeke must be making Shauna's night 'special' after her hard work at the fence. I have to blink away the disgusting images that slip into my head. Zeke has never been very secretive about his nightly endeavors.

"Let's get the initiates up!" someone calls, and the group splits into two, one headed for the Dauntless-borns' dormitory, and one for the transfers'. Without even consciously thinking about it, I find myself in the second group.

Everyone bursts into the dark dormitory with flashlights in hand. I feel mildly amused and sympathetic for the initiates as I see them scrambling up, confused at the chaos.

"Everybody, up!" I hear Eric roar, and realize that he, too, came to the transfers' instead of the Dauntless-borns. Well, of course.

In the process of scanning the dormitory of confused, sleepy and borderline panicked initiates, my eyes land on Tris. She is already looking at me, and as our eyes lock, I feel my mouth go dry. God, that black nightdress is incredibly thin. Her long, slender neck is exposed, and the tattoo of ravens, which I have only recently come to notice on her, is peeping out of the dress. Her hair is tousled from sleep, her pink lips parted slightly and her hands clutching the bedsheets — an image which immediately brings to my mind thoughts which my Abnegation part tries rather unsuccessfully to dispel. She is bleary-eyed from sleep, but her eyes are still alight with that familiar flame. At that moment, with me looking at her and she looking only at me, the world seems to have narrowed down to just us.

"Did you go deaf, Stiff?" Eric's demand brings me back to reality. Scowling, I step out of the room, allowing the initiates to get ready.

I stand before the tracks, waiting for all the initiates to arrive.

"Time estimate?" Eric asks me.

I check my watch. "Any minute now." I look at him in exasperation. "How long is it going to take you to memorize the train schedule?"

"Why should I, when I have you to remind me of it?" says Eric, shoving my shoulder. I frown. Lazy bummer.

After everyone climbs into the train, I know it's time to divide up into teams. Eric looks at me with the familiar competitive gleam in his eyes.

"Let's divide up transfers first, shall we?" he says.

"You go first," I offer.

Eric shrugs. "Edward."

 _Typical_. I don't even need to think who I'll pick, but selecting Tris has more than just the emotional reason to it. She is small and fleet-footed, and I am sure that she'll prove to be an asset, what with the strange talents she is already showing.

I lean against the wall, forcing myself to look bored and disinterested. I can't let anyone see how much she means to me, especially not Eric.

"I want the Stiff," I say. Over Eric's shoulder, I see Tris smiling, her gaze on the floor. It makes me want to smile back.

Eric raises an eyebrow at me, but doesn't comment. Tris' excellence must not have evaded his observation either.

"Peter."

"Christina."

"Molly."

"Will."

"Al."

"Drew."

"Last one left is Myra. So she's with me," says Eric. "Dauntless-born initiates next."

We go through the rest of the selection fast enough. I resist the urge to smirk. This is exactly where Eric goes wrong every time — he values power more than presence of mind, which is rather ironic, since he himself was an Erudite. This is a game of strategy, unlike the fights we have in the ring. Better planning pays off well.

We walk towards Navy Pier, which is where we kept the flag in the last game.

"When your team won, where did you put the flag?" Marlene asks me, placing her hand on my shoulder. Her touch irritates me for some reason.

"Telling you wouldn't really be in the spirit of the exercise, Marlene," I remind her coolly.

"Come on, Four," she whines, and flashes me a flirtatious smile. I resist the urge to frown while brushing her hand off my arm. I just wish Marlene would stop trying to flirt with me; I think I have made it clear by now that I am not interested.

We are nearing the marsh. South from here, I know, are the Erudite quarters. The skin at the back of my neck prickles as I think of Jeanine sitting in her office, plotting, cold, calculating. I slow down my pace to allow the Dauntless-borns, who are already familiar with this path, to take the lead for a while. Automatically, my eyes search out Tris.

She had been walking with Will and Christina, but now as the two interact with each other (and I strongly suspect something brewing between them), she walks a few paces ahead. Her head is down, her face set in a contemplating frown. She seems detached from the game, from everything else. At the moment, she appears strangely older and more mature than her sixteen years, as if she carries the grief and pain of decades. I can't help my curiosity and concern, and before I know it, I have slowed down enough to be at her side. She doesn't even notice my presence, still lost in her thoughts.

"Penny for your thoughts?" I say quietly. She snaps into attention, and on meeting my eyes, gasps in surprise and turns red. Her reaction surprises and amuses me equally.

"Nothing," she replies, her voice low. "Just thinking about my brother. He transferred to Erudite."

Ah, so she has a sibling who also transferred. That's a clue to her family. But given that I have been gone from Abnegation two years, and that I never really met anyone even before that, it doesn't really help my cause. Still, an Abnegation family with both children transferring is practically unheard of; it must have made news.

"Do you miss him?" I ask, hoping to make some meaningful conversation with her for once.

"I—" Tris hesitates. "I suppose. We were close. But now... I am not sure if I ever knew him well after all." I note a quiet sadness in her voice, as if she has already lost him somehow, and not just with the transfer.

"It happens sometimes," I say, thinking. "You think you know a person enough, and then it turns out that you were wrong." Her words make me think of my mother, and how I had trusted her implicitly, thought she loved me the most, unconditionally. But she had left me for another man, left me at the hands of that savage in a bed of lies. The truth still stings, even after a year of its discovery.

Tris stares at me, and something about her piercing, searching gaze unnerves me. Did I say too much? She must be about to ask me questions. Quickly nodding at her, I signal an end to the conversation, and take the lead of the group once more.

Damn, that was awkward. In times like this, I wish I were someone more normal, more open and charming, like Zeke, and not damaged goods, withdrawn and broken.

-o0o-

Once I take the flag out, as usual, debate breaks out. I sigh, drifting away from the group as the arguments begin. How very _Dauntless_ , I can't help think with a bit of disdain, so much competition. They are always leaping for action. This is where, in my opinion, the faction system fell short — in order to prove the trait that defines one's faction, people forget about their other traits, which are just as important. Like coordination. And teamwork. The Dauntless-borns opt for offense, while the transfers, under Will, talk about defending the flag. Well, it's mostly Christina backing Will, because Drew is sulking in the absence of his bully best buds, and Tris... she seems to be like me, content to sit out of the conversation, to wait and watch. I look up at the sky, trying to ignore the warm feeling that seems to spread all over me when I look at her.

The sky is dark, and in the absence of the glare of a thousand lights of the city, I can see the stars. The sky is so huge, endless. I wonder how big our world is. Is it really only our city, and patches of abandoned lands and barren oceans? I don't know. I want to.

When I look down towards my teammates again, wondering when they'd stop their squabbling and come to a decision, I notice that Tris is absent from her position. Immediately sitting up straight, I scan the group, but there is no sign of her small figure. Where did she go? I look out at the distance, analyzing which path she could have taken, and my eyes find a small figure at the base of the giant Ferris wheel. There she is. A small smile creeping on my face for a reason I cannot figure, I walk towards her. My teammates can wait; it's not like they are doing anything useful anyway.

As I near Tris, I see her supporting herself up on a rung of the Ferris wheel. My eyes widen. _You've got to be kidding me._ What on earth does she think she's doing?

I reach her in time to see her put her foot on the second rung.

"Tris," I say in a low voice, not wishing to startle her. She stills, and then turns around. I am surprised to see a smile on her face in the darkness. Could it be because of me? _No, don't be absurd, Tobias._

"Yes?" she says, her voice sounding soft and melodious on my ears.

"I came to find out what you think you're doing."

"I'm seeking higher ground," she replies. "I don't _think_ I'm doing anything."

Her words make me smile as her idea clicks into my brain. Here, at last is someone who thinks sensibly. I knew I wouldn't regret taking her in my team. Looking at me, she smiles wider, making me want to laugh; her happiness is contagious.

"All right. I'm coming," I say without thinking. _Heights, Tobias. What the hell?_ But there's no way she is going up there alone.

"You don't have to," Tris says. "I'll be fine."

"Undoubtedly," I reply, my smile still there. Not for a moment would I doubt the strength of this small girl.

Tris doesn't protest any further, and starts climbing. Once she is a few rungs up, I start my ascent too. I forcefully push the conscious thought of what I am doing away; if I let the fear get to me, I won't be able to control myself. And I can't fail, not in front of Tris.

The wind picks up as we climb higher, and all I can think of is how far the platform at the center, our evident destination, is. And how much height that indicates is required for us to climb. _Think about something else._ I need to distract myself.

"Am I ever going to find out why you were crying?" I ask, latching on to the first thought that comes to my mind.

"Must you bring it up?" Tris says, a slight whine in her voice. "It's embarrassing."

"Don't be," I say, hoping to sound reassuring and trustworthy. "Everyone has their weaknesses. Most initiates cry at least once after joining Dauntless."

"You didn't," she says. It's not even a question.

How did she know? Am I that easy to read?

"No," I confirm. "But that doesn't mean anything."

"Only that you are way stronger than everyone else."

My face heats up at the comment. Her compliment somehow sounds sweeter than all that I have heard from other people.

"You make me sound nicer than I am," I say bashfully. She wouldn't be saying that if she knew who I really am. She wouldn't be saying that if she knew what a coward I am. So much for having only four fears.

"No, just stating the truth," Tris insists. "Anyone would agree on that."

I shake my head silently, a wide smile on my face. Add sweetness to the list of her positive qualities.

There is a small pause. "It's not the usual cause," Tris says.

"Then what is it?" I ask, surprised; I had thought she had closed the subject.

"I... can't tell you. At least not for now."

I sigh. So much for trying.

"Curious, aren't you?" she says. I can hear the smile in her voice.

"Only concerned," I reply truthfully.

"There are many other candidates deserving of your concern. Al, for instance," Tris says with a laugh. God, that girl is cheeky. And she sure knows how to deflect a topic.

"You are impossible," I huff, annoyed at how she keeps getting past me every time. I won't be getting any closer to the truth today, that much is evident. "Forget it, then."

We climb higher in silence. Once, Tris' hand slips off her rung, but before I can reach out to help her, she regains her grip.

The wind is cutting and cold, not to mention very strong, an acute reminder of the height we are scaling. Every rung I climb feels like a punishment. I can feel my hands shaking. _Focus, Tobias. Focus. Don't think about the heights._

"So tell me…" I speak up again, merely to divert my attention, hearing the breathless quality of my voice, "What do you think the purpose of this exercise is? The game, I mean, not the climbing." Maybe it would be better if I just act like her instructor for a change, instead of trying to probe her secrets.

"Learning about strategy," Tris says without hesitation. "Teamwork, maybe."

"Teamwork," I echo, stuck between awed and amused. A panicked burst of laughter escapes me. It is astounding how deep she thinks, to grasp the meaning of the game right at the beginning, especially when teamwork is something Dauntless no longer cares about. It's all about competition now, about knocking each other out and coming first. Her teammates somewhere down below are good enough examples.

"Maybe not," she says, probably taking my laughter as derision. "Teamwork doesn't seem to be a Dauntless priority. But... but it should be. Like it was meant to be. Bravery is nothing without cooperation. And thinking."

 _Correct. As usual_.

"It's supposed to be a priority," I tell her. "It used to be."

"Before Eric," I hear her say quietly. "Before the Erudite."

I almost stumble on my rung. How on earth —?

"You know a lot for an Abnegation transfer," I comment, consciously keeping the shock and incredulity from my tone.

Tris freezes on her rung above me. "Did I say it all out loud?" Her voice is afraid, wondering.

"You did," I say. I see her stumble and gasp, and realize that those words weren't meant for my ears at all.

"Care to elaborate?" I ask nevertheless, refusing to let go of this new opening. My breathing is becoming increasingly fast; I am afraid I won't be able to go up anymore, and then I'll be stuck, unable to either move up and down, too frightened. Not a position I want to be in. I resolutely focus on Tris, trying not to let the fear cloud my mind.

"Never mind," Tris mumbles, and increases her pace. I almost laugh. Does she think she can escape by moving faster? But her discomfort is all too evident, and reminding myself that I wouldn't like someone being nosy about my personal life either, I keep quiet for the while, putting these questions into the list I'm already making in my mind about Tris.

But I can't keep the silence either, I desperately need a distraction.

"Now tell me…," I say, moving to familiar ground which I know she is comfortable with, "what do you think learning strategy has to do with…bravery?"

"It prepares you to act," Tris replies. "You learn strategy so you can use it." I hardly hear her answer over my own gasping breath. I try not to look down in any way, but even keeping my eyes strictly on the rung ahead doesn't help my cause; it doesn't let me forget just how high up I am. I feel sick.

"Just a little longer," Tris says. "We are nearly there."

"I'm not—" I stop the lie midway; what's the use? She has obviously noticed how terrified I am, and nothing's going to change the truth anyway. "Are you even _human_ , Tris? Being up this high," I gasp, "It doesn't scare you at all?"

She doesn't reply, but her steady pace answers for her. I am wondering which route to take to talk a little more to her, when a strong gust of wind blows, and Tris, unable to support her light body, loses her footing. A sharp scream comes from her. For a moment, her feet swing freely in the air, before I manage to hold her by the waist and let her steady herself. I try to put the urgency of the situation in the forefront of my mind in an attempt to ignore how the contact of my skin with her body sends a spark running down my arm.

"Steady now," I say, keeping my hands on her until I am sure she is firmly on her feet again. "You okay?"

"Y-yes."

We complete the rest of our journey in silence; I dare not distract her by talking. My feet touch the platform with gratitude as Tris shifts over to give me space. This climb couldn't be over soon enough. I look at her, sitting with her legs swinging in the air, so fearless. I can't possibly get myself to do that, so I crouch down, my back against one of the metal bars, a firm reminder that I am not about to fall, and looking anywhere but at the distance which will tell me how high we are.

"So, heights?" Tris looks at me with a small smile. I feel uncomfortable for a split second, but her smile isn't derisive, nor is her look judgmental or ridiculing, so I sigh, nodding.

"Yes," I say. "You're wondering how I survive in the Dauntless, aren't you?"

She doesn't say anything. I assume she _is_ curious, just too shy or polite to ask.

"I ignore my fear," I explain, my gaze drifting to my fingers. "When I make decisions, I pretend it doesn't exist."

I look up to see her staring at me. Her eyes are just a little wide, flashing energy in those blue-gray orbs, and her lips just a little parted. Her expression is something I can't quite place; if I hadn't known better, I would have said it was awe. I stare back for a minute or two, her gaze penetrating, as if it were staring at my soul. It's a new experience, and to some extent, unsettling.

"What?" I ask quietly.

A lovely blush colors her cheeks. "Nothing."

I watch as she stares at the distance. I mirror her gesture. The sight out there is definitely magnificent, with the occupied parts of the city glittering out of the dark, peeking from the dark background of the big buildings in front of us, but it makes my head swim, so I hastily withdraw my gaze.

"We're not high enough."

I stare as her words hit me like a hurtling car. Did I hear her right? My eyes lift towards the scaffolding, a tangle of metal bars high above our head. It's even scarier than what we have just overcome.

"You're not —" I begin, hoping against hope that she'll say no, confirming that she is not insane.

"I'm going to climb," she says, but of course, holding a metal bar and standing up. "I can't see them from here."

 _God, who did I get stuck with?_

"This is a game, Tris. Don't risk your life because of this," I try to convince her.

"I'm going." But of course, I fail.

"For God's sake, Stiff," I growl, frustrated, standing up. I don't know what I am doing, but either she is crazy, or I am, or we both are. I think the last one is the likeliest option.

"You don't have to follow me," she says. _Yeah, like hell I don't._

"Yes, I do," I reply, grabbing hold of a metal bar that her feet have left.

"Why?"

Her question staggers me; why can't she just accept this and get on?

"Because," I say through a puff of heavy breathing, "Because I want to." It's a rare moment of complete honesty on my part. For a second, I wonder if I should tell her that I like her, but then think better of it. "Now come on with your crazy plan, if there's nothing I can do to change your mind," I add with forced brusqueness, hoping that she didn't notice my hesitation.

We climb in silence, me trying desperately to stop the shaking of my hands. Tris suddenly freezes midstep, and her hands begin to shake. My eyes widen in concern. What is she thinking?

"Tris," I call out, reminding her where we are. She snaps back to attention at my voice, and resumes climbing.

At a point, Tris stops again. I look around, realizing that we must be at the required height. A large patch of the sky is visible over the dark silhouette of the buildings.

"See that?" she points. I climb up a little more in order to be able to see from exactly her point of view, until she is flush against me. And immediately wish I hadn't. Concentration becomes a challenge as her sweet apple smell wafts towards me, and I have to quell the insane desire to forget everything and hold her against me, or to bury my face in her sweet smelling hair and press kisses on her ear. _Sappy much?_ _Get it together, Tobias!_

"Yeah." I focus on her words, looking in the direction she is pointing at, and a smile creeps up my face at what I see. Among a clump of trees, I can see flashing lights like pinpricks, and small figures, moving around. "Figures. It's surrounded by open space, but the trees provide some camouflage. Obviously not enough."

"Okay." She turns to look at me, and I gulp at how close our faces are. I can see flecks of dark blue in the pool of lighter blue-gray of her eyes. Our noses are almost touching, and once again I notice the light sprinkle of freckles on hers. Her cheeks are rose-tinted. I imagine that I notice her eyes drifting to my lips. I stop breathing. The tension is too much.

"Um," she says awkwardly, "Climb down."

 _Huh? Oh, yeah, right._ I nod and start moving.

And God, the climb up was nothing, absolutely nothing as compared to this. I have to look down to ensure that I step right, and my eyes don't offer any mercy in showing me the height at which I am. I know my hands are shaking uncontrollably, but I can't care anymore; I just want to get down.

We don't speak, both focused on putting our feet on each metal bar. One mistake can cost us our lives. We have kept a considerable distance between us, more than that when we were climbing up, to ensure that we don't hinder each other. The ground far below jeers at me and my shaking hands. Sweat clings to my forehead. I resist the urge to close my eyes. This is almost worse than my fear landscape scene.

Suddenly, things take a most unexpected turn. I look up at the sound of clattering of metal, and almost get hit by a bar rushing down. A scream of pure terror comes from Tris. I see her hanging from one of the bars, the one below her fallen down.

"Four!" she calls out.

I have to think, think fast. I can't move up; the distance between the metal supports is too much for me to get her to regain her footing. But I have to do _something_ , or she'll invariably fall to her death. An idea strikes me. It's perhaps stupid and I don't even know if it will work, but it's my only chance, and I have to take it.

"Hold on!" I shout. "Just hold on, I have an idea." And with a last look at her, I start climbing down at a rapid pace.

It's terrifying, what I am doing; I slip a couple of times, and I feel nauseous all the time, but I can't stop, I can't slow down. Every moment counts. One moment too late, and she falls. _Hang on, Tris. Just hang on. Don't fall. Don't die on me, please. Don't die._

My heart feels like it's performing a tap dance, so hard and quick it's beating. The ground comes closer and closer. I wonder if she thinks I abandoned her. _No time to wonder now. Just get to it, Four!_

My biggest fear is if my plan doesn't work. If I can't move it, or worse...if it's too rusty to move..My hand slips, and I tumble down, missing three rungs, before managing to latch onto one for dear life. _Stop thinking. Stop thinking now_.

Finally, after what feels like too long, my feet touch the ground. I don't let myself catch my breath, or my feet rest, or my heart slow down or my head stop spinning. _Hurry, hurry, hurry._

I search frantically on the body of the Ferris Wheel, hunting for the control panel which should be there. _What if it's rusted beyond repair? What if it doesn't work?_ I don't pause to answer the terrifying thoughts. I find the control panel, rusty and terrifyingly weak-looking, and start jabbing at the buttons. It is too old for the labels to be read. But one of them has to do it. _Please work. Please work._ I try all the buttons once. Nothing happens. _NO!_ I try again, putting more force on the buttons. I can't afford to fail. The buttons squeal under my fingers.

With a mournful creak, the giant wheel starts moving.

But it's slow, too slow. At this rate, Tris won't make it long enough for it to come down. I grip onto the Ferris wheel bar nearest to me. I grit my teeth, pushing it with all the force I can muster, putting everything I have, all my strength, all my training. _Come on, move faster!_ The wheel creaks, moving faster. Encouraged, I try again. _Just a little longer, Tris!_ It moves an inch. Harder, harder!

Finally, the speed of the wheel is good enough for Tris to come down safely. I can't help the joyful whoop which leaps out of my mouth. My hands keep working, and the wheel keeps moving, until I see a small figure appear, hanging on, coming closer and closer. Finally, when she is close enough, Tris leaps, landing on the ground with a thump.

I watch as she sits on the ground, her eyes closed, taking deep breaths. Reaching forward, I crouch to her level to enclose her wrists in my hands. They are cold with fear.

"You all right?" I ask, feeling a little stupid. Of course she isn't alright. But she will be.

"Yeah," she says a little unsteadily, doing nothing about our joined hands. "Thank you."

And I can't help it, I laugh. She might think that I am laughing at her, but it's not so. I am so giddy with relief, I want to hug her and kiss her, but of course that is inappropriate, so I let it all out with my laughter. I don't usually laugh, and never like this. It feels good.

Tris joins in too, her laughter like the tinkling of bells, such a beautiful sound, I can't help think. The distance between us is so less now, less than six inches. We are sharing the same air.

And suddenly I feel her lips on mine. They are just a little chapped, but incredibly soft, like delicate flower petals. My laughter dissolves as I freeze, registering the situation. I can't believe this is happening. I try to figure out how, what and why, but my mind seems to have short circuited.

She pulls back after a few seconds, regaining her bearings, her eyes wide and her expression flustered, and immediately starts apologizing profusely.

"I— I'm sorry," she stammers. "I didn't think — I sh-shouldn't have —" Her face is so red. She doesn't meet my eyes. I don't know what to do. Then, letting my instincts take over and my thoughts subside, I grab her chin and force her to meet my eyes. And then, feeling braver than I ever have, I let my lips brush lightly against hers.

"Don't be," I whisper. Tris stares at me disbelievingly for seconds, and then her face blooms in a breathtaking smile. It seems to light up the whole city.

Slowly, I stand up and let her take my arm. As much as I would have loved to stay here, just like this, we have a game to finish.

Of course, after Tris' observation, winning is no big deal at all. I watch as the team cheers with Christina on their shoulders, and I frown at how wrong it is, it should be Tris there. But I see her smiling from a side, and her smile makes me forget everything else. I walk over to her, and feeling that she deserves a reward at least, press a kiss against her cheek.

"Well done," I say, and before she can notice the growing blush on my cheek, I melt into the crowd.

Tonight, I feel as if I am on top of the world, and of course it has nothing to do with that amazing blonde girl with her stormy eyes.


	5. Hurts

**Next chapter up, guys! Once again, thanks for all your words of encouragement. If in any part of the story, you feel I am writing Four out of cha** **racter or something, feel free to point it out :)**

 **Several parts of this have been taken verbatim from Four's POV of the knife throwing scene, and of course, Divergent. Neither of which I own.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 5: Hurts**_

The transition of night to morning feels exactly like coming down from a drunken high to a splitting hangover.

If I weren't good enough at hiding my emotions, someone looking at me on the return trip after the game would have concluded that I had lost it. In the train, a constant smile threatened to spill over my face as the kiss played again and again in my mind. I felt ridiculous, silly and light; this didn't feel like me. But it didn't feel bad, either. It felt good, very, very good. And the secret little smile that Tris gave me before the transfers were ushered into their dormitory only made it better.

But now, alone in my apartment, my head resting on the pillow and my eyes wide open, the clock probably showing somewhere past three thirty, I am not feeling as great. I am worried. There, I admit it. Yes, I'm worried. And insecure.

I cannot deny any longer that I like Tris. It became all too clear to me last night, if it hadn't before, when I decided that being with her was worth facing one of my worst fears. I like her, I like her a lot, probably more than is better for either of us. Realizing that she likes me back should be a relief, and it was, until now. But now, I am not sure. Because I am not ready. Not ready to come to terms with these feelings which are so new to me, not ready to confront the expectations that she might have from me. And certainly not ready to trust, to open myself yet. I know I can trust her, but just, not sure if I can trust her yet. I am not used to trusting _anyone_ ; can I trust a girl I hardly know? Besides, I know for sure that she too has secrets of her own. Can a relationship possibly be built on secrecy? I turn to bury my face in my pillow, as if doing that would bury all my problems too.

I don't know how to proceed with this. I have never been in a relationship before, and there is too much Abnegation in me, which still considers the pleasures of romance selfish and forbidden. The experiences I've had with dating so far are downright embarrassing. Tris' forwardness last night saved me the trouble of approaching her about how I felt about her, although this confidence and lack of hesitation did shock me to some extent. Abnegation doesn't seem to have had enough influence on her.

But our kiss also lands me in a ditch. If things had moved on normally, I'd have had more time to think over the course of actions on my part. I don't know when I'd have told her, or how, but it would have been eventually, maybe after her initiation. But with this, things have come to a head. If we were two common Dauntless members, I would have asked her out and kissed her at the bottom of the Chasm. But things are anything but normal about us. I am far from the fellow members of my faction, withdrawn, hanging on to my secrets. She is full of secrets too, definitely different from her peers in a way I cannot fathom, intriguing me with every step. On top of that, she is an initiate, and I am her instructor. We are not supposed to date. Eric seems to be keeping an eye on her already; if he gets wind of our feelings for each other (that is, assuming that Tris _has_ feelings for me, and last night's kiss wasn't just a consequence of adrenaline overdose), he will use that knowledge to his own ends. We can't have that. Nor can the others know about this; as I pointed out to Shauna, all of Tris' success will be put to favoritism. If we do date, we will have to keep it a secret. As much as I don't like the idea, that is the only option we have.

With this conclusion, I shut my eyes, hoping to salvage the small hours left until daylight, and fall into a fitful sleep.

-o0o-

I don't recall having a greater desire to destroy the alarm clock ever than now, when it brings me out of sleep seemingly far too early. I want to stay in bed all day, keeping all my troubles and dilemmas out of the door. But laziness is self-serving, as the Abnegation teaching springing into my mind without warning reminds me even after two years of having no association with that faction, and with bleary eyes, I step out of bed.

I look at myself in the mirror, noticing the dark bags beneath my eyes and the tiredness written on every line of my face. I should have tried harder to sleep instead of wasting the hours thinking. After taking a quick and cold shower, which does a fine job of waking me up but doesn't quite wash off my tiredness, I make my way to the dining hall for breakfast.

I spot Zeke and Shauna easily at one of the tables up front. In the very next instant, I notice Eric at the next table. As if feeling my eyes on him, he looks up, only to send me a venomous glare. I look away. It seems that last night's loss didn't sit well with _someone_.

Drifting away from Eric, my eyes lock almost magnetically with a pair of blue ones sitting a few tables away. Tris looks beautiful this morning, even past the tiredness which mars her face. She isn't... pretty, no, that's not the term one should use for her. She is striking, _beautiful_. She is sharp, like a dagger, not all curves and curls and fluttering eyelashes like all those girls I have stared at before. She may look demure and harmless, but that fire within her screams 'danger'.

As she looks at me, her lips curl in a genuine smile, a slight blush coloring her pale cheeks, her hand raised in a wave. Only for me. She is actually happy to see me. I feel that familiar shot of warmth run through my body, but then stop short. _Think about it, Tobias. Don't give anything away._ Especially when Eric is so close. Not permitting my face to betray any emotion, I look away from Tris, and refusing to turn again, sit down with Zeke and Shauna. I immediately feel an irrational sting of guilt.

I don't let myself look at her for the rest of the breakfast.

"Heard you won the game last night," Zeke says through a mouthful of toast. Shauna wrinkles her nose in distaste and heaves a long-suffering sigh.

"I really don't know how I keep up with your awful table manners, Ezekiel."

"'Cause the rest of me is so lovable, babe," Zeke quips.

"Quit being an ass, Zeke," I comment. "And yes, we won, no thanks to you."

"It seems like you don't need me to win anymore," Zeke sighs. "My little friend is all grown up."

I might have retorted, but I just feel off. What with my tiredness almost leading to a steady throb behind my eyes, ignoring Tris, and Eric's proximity, the day hasn't opened well at all. What makes me feel even worse is that part of it is my fault. I drag my palm across my face tiredly.

"Someone seems to be in a bad mood today," Zeke says, nudging me with his elbow. "What's wrong, Four?"

"Nothing. Just leave me alone."

Zeke and Shauna exchange glances, but recognizing my tone which doesn't leave much scope for argument, don't pursue the topic. I am glad.

"Four." I look up from my nearly empty plate to see Max standing near us.

"Max." I nod, rising to walk over to him. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, nothing much. I just wanted to ask how the transfers are doing."

"They are all fine," I reply, once again resisting the urge to look at Tris. "Some of them are better than the others, of course. We'll just have to see."

"Have you calculated their scores yet?" Max asks. "What do you think, how many will be cut?"

"I can't say until the last round of the fights happen, but I guess around two will be cut this year, although everything heavily depends on the Dauntless-borns' performance too," I tell him. "I'll prepare the scores as soon as I can."

"Good." Max pats me on the shoulder. "Keep up with the good work." And then he walks away. He didn't even acknowledge Eric's presence, as if he wasn't in charge of the initiates too. I glance at said Erudite transfer from the corner of my eyes. He bites into his bran muffin, his expression murderous. I immediately feel wary; knowing Eric, he will be taking his wrath out on the initiates.

-o0o-

Eric stands in the middle of the training room while I lounge against the wall. His silence is a sign of danger; it is at his quietest that Eric is his most dangerous. I breathe deeply the smell of dust-sweat-metal of the training room and will it to make me feel strong, just like it did in the beginning.

At one end of the room is a slab of wood with a target painted on it. Against one wall is a table covered with throwing knives—ugly metal instruments with a hole at one end, perfect for inexperienced initiates. I requested that the knife-throwing be taken from the training curriculum this year, because it serves no actual purpose other than fueling the Dauntless bravado, but my request was denied, of course. Eric would say that dazzling people can be useful, which is why he denied my request, but it's everything I hate about Dauntless.

"Tomorrow will be the last day of stage one," Eric addresses the initiates standing in a row in front of us. "You will resume fighting then. Today, you'll be learning how to aim. Everyone pick up three knives, and pay attention while Four demonstrates the correct technique for throwing them." He doesn't look at me as he speaks, his gaze freezing somewhere north of me, like he is superior to me, standing above me. I hurt his pride yesterday with the win and today with my talk with Max, and he is taking out his vexation by trying to spite me. I hate how he acts like I am his lackey or something.

The initiates stand frozen in their places.

"Now!" Eric barks.

And they scramble for knives like factionless kids over a spare piece of bread, too desperate. All except her. Tris' moves are graceful and deliberate, confident and at ease. She holds her knives in her palm as calmly as if they were little sticks. I see her eyes move to me, and after freezing under her piercing gaze for a split second, I move to demonstrate the throws. I feel more paranoid of Eric than ever; if he notices me staring at Tris, it will be my undoing.

I hold the knife by its blade so the balance is right. Amar saw that I had a busy mind, so he taught me to tie my movements to my breaths. I inhale, and stare at the target's center. I exhale, and throw. The knife hits the target. I hear a few of the initiates draw breath at the same time. I find a rhythm in it: inhale and pass the next knife to my right hand, exhale and turn it with my fingertips, inhale and watch the target, exhale and throw. Everything goes dark around the center of that board. The other factions call us brutish, as if we don't use our minds, but that is all I do here.

Eric's voice breaks my daze. "Line up!"

Tris' gaze had been burning into me the whole time. As I step back, she looks away before I can meet her eyes. This feels like a game of chase.

Knives are flying but, most of the time, not spinning. Even Edward hasn't figured it out, though he's usually among the quickest, his eyes alive with that Erudite knowledge-craving.

Tris holds her knife, poising herself for the throw. She doesn't hold her breath, I am pleased to notice, unlike the habit of mine which Amar scolded out of me. Her posture is an exact copy of mine; I'm pleasantly surprised at her quick learning, but then, why? She has done everything perfectly so far. More than she should be able to.

"I think the Stiff's taken too many hits to the head!" Peter says. "Hey, Stiff! Remember what a _knife_ is?"

I don't usually hate people, but I hate Peter. I hate that he tries to shrink people, the same way Eric does. The idiot has mistaken Tris' deliberation for lack of capability.

Tris doesn't answer, just picks up a knife and throws. Her knife penetrates the target exactly where mine had.

"Hey, Peter," Tris says. "Remember what a _target_ is?" I walk away from her, but I can't prevent the smile from making my lips curve upwards.

I watch each of the initiates, trying not to catch Eric's eye as he paces like a caged animal behind them. I have to admit that Christina is good—though I don't like giving credit to Candor smart- mouths— and so is Peter—though I don't like giving credit to future psychopaths. Al, however, is just a walking, talking sledgehammer, all power and no finesse.

It's a shame Eric also notices.

"How slow are you, Candor? Do you need glasses? Should I move the target closer to you?" he growls.

In these few days that I have seen him, I have concluded one thing about Al — despite his big, brawny exterior, he is very soft inside. Eric's jab gets to him. His face red, he throws his knife, which flies wider away than ever.

Eric's eyes narrow. "What was that, initiate?"

Al blushes harder. "It—it slipped."

"Well, I think you should go get it."

The initiates stop throwing.

"Did I tell you to stop?" Eric says, his pierced eyebrows raised. I bite my cheek. This is not good.

"Go get it?" says Al incredulously. "But everyone's still throwing."

"And?"

"And I don't want to get hit."

"I think you can trust your fellow initiates to aim better than you. Go get your knife."

"No."

Eric stares. I understand that Al's response is out of fear, but standing up to Eric takes more courage from him than walking in front of flying knives, something which Eric does not understand.

"Why not? Are you afraid?"

"Of getting stabbed by an airborne knife?" says Al. "Yes, I am!"

Al's honesty is his undoing; it is going to cost him dearly now. Eric raises his voice. "Everyone stop! Clear out of the ring." Then, to Al: "All except you. Stand in front of the target."

Damn.

Al, gulping, lumbers over to the target. I pull away from the wall. I know what Eric will do. And it will probably end with a lost eye or a pierced throat; with horror, as every fight I've witnessed has, each one driving me further and further from the faction I chose as a haven.

Without looking at me, Eric says, "Hey, Four. Give me a hand here, huh?"

Part of me feels relief. At least I know that if I am throwing the knives instead of Eric, Al is less likely to get injured. But I also can't be this cruel, and I can't be the one who does Eric's dirty work.

I try to act casual, scratching my eyebrow with a knife point, but I don't feel casual. I feel like someone is pressing me into a mold that does not fit my body, forcing me into the wrong shape.

Eric says, "You're going to stand there as he throws those knives until you learn not to flinch."

My chest feels tight. I want to save Al, but the more I defy Eric, the more determined he will be to put me in my place. I decide to pretend that I am bored by the whole thing.

"Is this really necessary?"

"I have the authority here, remember?" Eric says very quietly. "Here, and everywhere else." My fists clench and heat rushes to my cheeks as anger coils within me. Eric never lets go of a chance to remind me that he is superior to me. How I long to knock out his teeth once more, like I had during initiation. Just to remind him what I am worth.

"No."

I freeze. She speaks, and I have no difficulty in knowing that it's _her,_ because her voice is low, for a girl's, and careful, and quaking with anger. I glare at her with all the ferocity I can muster, hoping that it would make her stop and shut her mouth, but knowing that it won't. I don't want Eric to turn on her instead. He is already interested in her, in the resistance that she has put up to him. She meets my eyes levelly, and then looks away at Eric. Eric stops and turns to her, slowly. Dangerous.

"Did I just hear you say something, Stiff?" he asks, his voice soft.

"Just because you think you have a lot of authority, 'here and everywhere else'", she imitates his voice, and I would have laughed had my insides not been tightening with every word she speaks, with every moment of her daring, "doesn't mean you can do whatever you want. Any idiot can stand in front of a target. It doesn't mean anything other than that you are bullying us. And that, Eric, is _cowardice_. Wasn't that what Dauntless wanted to eradicate?"

Dauntless brutes—bullies, Lower Level children—that is what we are, beneath the tattoos and the piercings and the dark clothing.

Maybe I am stupid. Maybe I should have never looked at her like that at all, or thought about her so much. Perhaps it would have done us both good. But now, it is too late to turn back.

Eric gives a sigh of mock suffering. "Oh dear, someone's heroic streak seems to be showing up again. Feeling that sorry for your stupid boyfriend, Stiff?"

Tris' face reddens at that, and I feel my frown deepening and my lips pressing together. I know Tris likes me (again, I assume so; God, I wish we had talked more last night), but Eric's words are a cruel reminder that she is desirable, that others wish to covet her too, that she could easily be someone else's. And in a moment of cavemanly possessiveness and jealousy, I wish she hadn't stood up for Al. I know it is only her selflessness, but it still means that she cares about him. I don't know if she cares about me so much, if she will ever, if _anyone_ will ever. If I am worth it at all.

"Then I think you should stand in front of the target instead of him, if you think it's that simple," Eric finishes.

And then his eyes shift to mine, just for a second. It's like he _knows_ , he knows I have a thing for her, so he's going to force me to throw knives at her. My anger seizes me over logic, and I want to throw a knife at him, instead. Maybe at his arm or leg, no harm done...

But my eyes lock on Tris, and stay there. I know that I am still glaring at her, but I don't know who I am angry at most, Eric, the obvious choice, or her, for being so gloriously brave and stupid and so damn selfless, or me, for what I am about to do. I know I will have to hurt her for this. Just to convince Eric that I don't care about her. Just to finish this.

Tris places herself before the target, her chin tipped up stubbornly, fearless. Her selflessness is something she was supposed to have left behind when she left her faction, but that is what makes her strong. And as my eyes look into hers, alight with blue flames, I see something in them I wasn't prepared for — trust, open, clear trust. She trusts me. She _trusts_ me, even when I am about to throw knives at her. I nearly drop the knives then and there, or hurl one at Eric and walk out.

"If you flinch," I say slowly, carefully, knowing that I must exploit her selflessness to give her strength, "Al takes your place. Understand?"

She nods. I test the knife in my hand, drawing a long breath. I try not to look at her hair, cascading around her like old gold, or her pale white skin, with the black birds flying on her collarbone, or think about the redness of her blood which might spring out if I make a mistake. But I won't; I trust myself. I trust her to trust me. I need to be worthy of her trust.

The knife is ready to fly out of my hand when Eric interrupts.

"No, wait, wait, wait!" I stop, confused. The same confusion shows on Tris' face.

"Step back, Four," Eric says. "I don't think you'll be needed." Relief momentarily washes over me, followed by confusion and trepidation. Eric can't possibly be letting Tris off. I have known him long enough to know that he doesn't forgive easily. What can be going on in that Erudite brain of his?

"Christina. Step forward."

I watch, uncomprehending, as the girl obliges.

"Your friend did a very good job of keeping you company at the Chasm that day," Eric says silkily. "I think you should return the favor."

My jaw threatens to drop. He can't possibly be asking her to do that. But he is. It's as if he knows how Tris trusts me, and plans to make it even worse. Tris' standing up to him by the Chasm has made it worse for her. Eric plans to crush her, to make an example to the initiates about the consequences of rebellion.

"Wh-what?" Christina stutters. The silence is like a blanket, swamping me. I look at Tris; her eyes hold genuine fear. I am sure mine do too.

"You are going to throw knives at her. Each time she flinches adds three more throws."

"You can't make initiates throw knives at each other," I say, bristling with anger. I want to punch him in the face, or even better, just gut him with one of those knives. "They have only just learnt it."

Eric doesn't bat an eyelid. "Remember what I was saying, Four, when the Stiff interrupted us? I have authority. You didn't take your chance when you got it. Don't. Interfere. With. My. Work. You know where you belong, stay there."

Every calm intake of breath is a struggle now. God, how I want to kill him! But this is a battle I have lost, just because Eric has the authority and I don't. My hands shake with suppressed anger as I step back, cursing myself for not taking the leadership when I had the chance.

Eric looks back. "So Christina. Get on with it."

Christina's trembles all over. "N-no."

"If you don't do it," Eric's voice is all but a whisper. "You'll be cut."

Christina's chin trembles, but she stands resolute. "I—" At that moment, I respect her courage. She may be a smart-mouth with no filter, but she is brave.

"Do it," Tris says. I struggle between the urge to strangle her for her stupid selflessness and kiss her so hard for her incredible bravery. "Do it, Christina. It's okay."

Christina picks up a knife, tears in her eyes. "I am sorry, Tris." And she throws.

The first knife slams into the board an inch over Tris' head. She doesn't look at me, or anyone else, her eyes on the knife in Christina's hand. I hold my breath with the throw, and exhale when the knife is buried in the wood. The second one flies, spins and hits the board millimetres from Tris' neck. I forget to breath.

It is at least good that Eric chose Christina to throw knives at Tris. Peter would have intentionally tried to hurt her, Will isn't too good at this, and God help me if it were Myra. Christina is good. She seems to be holding up well enough, considering it's her fir—

The third knife buries itself deep into Tris' shoulder. She gasps, blood runs down the wound, exactly as deep a red as I had envisioned.

"Stop it," Christina moans. "Enough!" All around the room, gasps and whispers break out. My fists clench and unclench; I want nothing more than to run to Tris and check her wound. But I can't, not if I want my feelings to stay a secret.

"I would love to stay and see if the rest of you are as daring as she is," says Eric, his voice smooth, "but I think that's enough for today." He steps close to Tris, plucking the knife out and brushing his fingers on her wound. Their intimate position makes me want to throw up, and knock a few more of Eric's teeth out, among the least of things.

"D-don't touch me!" Tris spits out, jerking away from him. It makes me feel slightly better, if anything can at all.

I watch, numb, as one by one, the initiates leave. Christina cries and apologizes to Tris, but Tris waves all her friends away. I can see that she is on the verge of breaking, but still, she keeps herself together, proud and strong.

Once they all leave, Tris' shoulders slump, her posture defeated. I can see her trembling. She touches her wound, her fingers coming out coated in blood. I need to get her to the infirmary.

I close the door softly behind me so that we can have privacy, but stand where I am, unsure how to advance. But once Tris looks up and notices me, her eyes widening slightly, I walk towards her.

"Is your—" I start to reach for her shoulder. But she steps back, laughing humorlessly. Her eyes are hard and venomous, unlike the softness and understanding they had held last night.

"Oh, feeling very concerned now, are you? Why? What happened to all that non-carishness? Ran out of walls to block out the world with?"

I stop short, taking a step back. I hadn't seen this coming."I —"

"Why? Why didn't you do anything?" She demands of me, her voice rising with every word. "Why did you just stand, doing nothing, watching—?"

Her words make my insides turn cold.

"What could I have done?" I say defensively. Her accusation stirs up anger in me. Does she think I didn't feel useless enough, unable to do anything to help her? Is this how little she thinks of me, that I let her suffer by my own will? "What did you expect me to do? Stand in front of the target in your place? You have to stick your head up in everything, and then you expect me to clean up your mess?" I probably would have never spoken to her like this if I had been thinking calmly, but something about her robs me of the careful thinking which I have always considered my greatest strength.

"Oh, no, I never should!" She laughs maniacally. Her transformation from how I have known her to this is almost terrifying. This is yet another side of her. "Because you don't care at all, all you want is to hurt me —"

Her words are like a slap to my face _. I_ don't care?

"Don't you dare, Tris." I say quietly. "Don't you dare accuse me of not caring. If I wanted to hurt you, I'd have done it ages ago." I try to step towards her, to touch her and cool both of our tempers, but she steps away from me. It stings. "Why do you never think before acting?" I ask her tiredly. "Can't you ever understand that sometimes surviving is more important than being right? What do you hope to change, with all these brave acts?" If she keeps going on like this, it will be no time before she ends up by the train tracks, dead, like Amar. The thought sends a wave of horror through me.

"You don't understand!" she says, her voice breaking a little.

"You're right, I don't! And I never will." It's the anger speaking. Maybe if I can goad her into it, she will stop. She needs to understand that sometimes, it's more important for her to be alive than right. That _I_ need her to be alive. "Just one day when you are dying because of your thoughtless bravery, don't —"

"Shut up, just shut up!" Her scream cuts me off. "Get out! Just — l-leave me alone." I almost flinch at how much her rejection hurts.

"You know, I'm getting a little tired of waiting for you to catch on!" I say, trying desperately to make her understand how I feel about her. God, why can't I be more suave, more straightforward? Why do we have to be like two flames, colliding with each other in our tempers? "Especially after yesterday, I thought you'd have understood."

"You talk about understanding!" Tris' voice quivers. "I'm surprised you even _remember_ what happened yesterday."

That is the final straw. I think of telling her that _of course_ I remember, and how much last night meant to me, and ask her what on earth could have given the impression that I don't care about her. But given my state of mind, anything I say will make the situation worse.

I have to get out. I cross the room and, at the last second before I slam the door, grab a knife and shove its point into the table.

I hear her frustrated scream from around the corner and the sound of her fist hitting the wall, and I almost head back, reminded of her wound and the further injuries she might be causing herself. But she doesn't want me. She hates me. I stop, sinking into a crouch with my back to the wall.

We are done. We didn't even begin, and we are done already. Things are completely screwed up between us. Perhaps permanently.

And I don't even know who to blame for this.

-o0o-

My first idea is to drown myself in alcohol, to forget everything in its haze and burn, but knowing the hangover I'll surely get afterwards, I think better of it. Wasting myself and my time away isn't worth it.

Instead, I head to the control room and work overtime, hoping to distract myself from thoughts of _her_ by looking at the screen, at the ever changing scenes. If my luck favors me, I might even be able to catch something of the plot between Max and Jeanine. But nothing of the sort happens. Instead, with every image on the screen my memory pitches _her_ in — the Pit, her laughing and talking, the Pire, her climbing up the Ferris wheel, the entrance, her sleeping in my arms. Finally, when I feel like crushing the keyboard in front of me with my fists, I know it is no good, and I leave.

I thought I had left enough openings, enough escapes. But she has pushed me against the wall, into a dead end, with her intrigue and her secrets, with her strength and selflessness. I still feel warm everywhere when I remember her lips on mine yesterday. But now she hates me, and I can't even leave to join the factionless because Eric has his eye on her, and because I like her too much. I am stuck. Stuck with nothing and nobody, just these feelings which are driving me crazy.

Maybe I am a fool. I should never have liked her, I should never have let myself look at her like that. But now it's done, and as much as I want to hate her back and forget about her, I can't. I can't undo what I have done, so I am stuck with the consequences. I like her too much. Damn myself, and that beautiful, incredible girl, but I do like her. Too much.

-o0o-

My attention doesn't remain on the fights today. I feel dejected, tired. I just want to be alone, and watching these kids beat each other to a pulp doesn't help my cause. Shauna had to return to the fence yesterday, and Gus has been keeping Zeke busy in the control room, so thankfully, I had no concern and questions to face. The most prominent desire I feel now is to hurt Eric as badly as possible, but I quell it, and numb myself down.

I don't want to look at her, but I can't stop my eyes from drifting over to her. And I immediately know that something is off about her. Tris looks... different. She is not nervous, or angry, or sad... her expression is something I can only describe as vengeful. I don't know what could have made her like that, or who, but I sense something bad about to happen today.

Al and Christina's fight is over almost as soon as it started, and I understand what Eric meant that day all too well — Al isn't trying at all. He is losing intentionally, or at least, that's how it started after his fight with Will. Now he has fallen into a habit of losing which he can't get out off. The boy will go down hard and fast, and I have no idea what to do about him, or if there is anything possible to be done to help him at all.

The next fight is between Molly and Tris. As the two girls step into the ring, I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up — it's Tris, I realize. She doesn't betray any particular emotion as she takes the combat stance, but something, _something_ about her screams 'danger'. Molly seems oblivious to that as she faces Tris.

"Was that a birthmark I saw on your left butt cheek?" I hear Molly say. I frown. What only earth does she want to imply? "God, you're pale, Stiff."

Molly makes the first move, as always. She starts toward Tris and throws her weight into a punch. As her body shifts forward, Tris ducks and drives her fist into her stomach. She has kept my advice in mind, and used it effectively against Molly. But she doesn't stop there. Taking advantage of Molly's temporary disorientation, she moves dexterously to hit in one move after other. Kicks, punches. Again and again. Upper cut, right hook. Not once does she stop. Molly never saw it coming. She just keeps stumbling and backing away, until a sharp kick from Tris lands her on the floor.

Well, to be fair, _no one_ saw this coming. Tris has always been fairly good at the fights, but she is fighting differently today, not the careful, strategic way she usually follows. This fight is fuelled by anger. She is fighting for blood, enjoying every injury she is inflicting on Molly. It brings to me a feeling of familiarity. Then I realize — she is like me. This is just like my fight with Eric during initiation. Anger is the only thing at work. No control. Nothing. I watch as Tris kicks the fallen Molly in the face, again, again, again — her eyes are wild. Not like her. I am not a mind reader, but I know that she is not thinking now, she is not seeing, not feeling. Her demons are in charge. If she is anything like me, and I feel like she is, she will regret this when her mind is calm. This needs to stop.

I walk over to her, knowing Eric is just enjoying the show, and grab her by the waist, pulling her back.

"You won," I tell her. "Stop."

For a split second she struggles, but then her body goes limp against mine, calming down. She looks at me. I wonder what she sees in my eyes, whether they contain the alarm I feel, at seeing this new side of her, at discovering just how alike we are. And I am not a good person.

"Listen, I —" she begins.

"I think you should leave," I suggest. "Take a walk." That's what I would have done.

"I'm fine," she says. "I —"

Then I realize that I am still holding her, and last day's argument flashes in my mind, and I let go of her with a mechanical nod.

"Initiates, you are dismissed," I call out, giving Peter and Drew instructions about taking Molly to the infirmary. The collective chatter as everyone begins to move acts as a distraction, separating me from Tris, and I am glad. I don't want to think about her. It hurts too much.

Just as I am about to close the door behind me, I run the routine check to ensure everyone is out. My eyes find Tris. My heart skips a beat, and gives me a sinking feeling, all at the same time.

"Listen, I —" she begins again. I don't know what to do. Part of me wants to make it up with her immediately, to kiss her and touch her once again, but the rest of me rebels. What does she have to say? Is it something hurtful again, perhaps for stopping her from hurting Molly? I stand at the door, conflicted, and then I walk out.

I imagine her calling after me. But it is surely my fancy. I made a mistake. She made a mistake. And now, I don't know about her, but I am at least paying for it. A part of me just urges me to apologize, but I am proud, and it was not all my fault. At the moment, I am at a loss.

But I know one thing. I realized just how much power she has over me, how much her words can hurt me. A mere initiate (and yet I can never think of her as a subordinate, not ever since that moment when she talked back to me), she has shaken me to the core like no one else before.

I hate her for how much she means to me, and I hate myself for letting that be. But either way, there is nothing I can do to change it. Not anymore.


	6. Fixing

**It's been a while...I'm sorry. But I alternate between writing a chapter each for The Return and this, so you might understand that it gets a little hectic. Thank you for your support, thanks to each and every one of you who read, reviewed, favorited and followed this story. Love you!**

 **This chapter includes part of chapter 8 of The Return along with chapter 7, the entire Visiting Day that is, until the declaration of stage one rankings. Hope you like!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 6: Fixing**_

Another year. Another Visiting Day. Not a day of hope or expectations for me.

Two years ago, I spent this day holed up in the training room, pretending my own Visiting Day did not exist. It was the same last year, although Shauna and Zeke both invited me to spend time with their families. At least I never had the hope of my parents turning up at all. Better than hoping and waiting all day, and then having no one show up. Feeling that they left you. That you left them. That's what happens over time though. Eventually, they stop coming. 'Faction before blood'. I never had to find out what that feels like. I guess I should be grateful, but it doesn't feel good. As much as I select loneliness over company all the time, this day seems to jab at me the worst, telling me that my own family doesn't want me. I laugh bitterly as I pull on my jacket. What family? I had no family worth speaking of any day. Nobody wants me. A flash of that blonde hair and the small, pale face comes to my mind. _She_ doesn't want me too. My inner demons jeer at me. _Unwanted. Undesirable. Worthless._

With a growl of frustration, I head to the sink and splash the cold water of the faucet on my face, as if hoping to wash off my insecurities too. I don't want to think about all that. I don't want to think about _her_. This Visiting Day feels worse than last year's right from the start. But this time, I won't stay in my room or in the training room, punching my strength out or moping about my family dysfunction and my failed romance ('What romance?' my inner voice sneers at me, 'It isn't like there was anything worth talking about'). I have more important things to do. I'm going to the control room.

I walk into the Pit, dodging tearful reunions and shrieking laughter. It feels like a different place altogether, what with all the splashes of colors across the sea of black. Most of the colored clothing belongs to the families of transfer initiates. Most of the members who were transfers have eventually gotten used to the fact that they are Dauntless, and apparently their families have too, and eventually stopped coming. I observe Christina standing with her mother and a small girl who can only be her sister, and Will talking to a woman dressed in blue close to my age, a little older maybe — his Erudite sister. Peter's Candor parents are in black and white. I look at them, searching for signs of their son in them, wondering if they made him into the person he is. But then, most of the time, people aren't that easy to explain, I guess.

I have a job to do today, but I pause by the Chasm, finding a spot not crowded by emotional families, and press against the railing. The river below foams white, pieces of paper floating in it. Now that I know the steps cut out in the rock on the opposite wall, I can see them right away. I smile a little, thinking of the nights I spent on the rocks down below with Zeke and Shauna, sometimes talking and sometimes just listening to the water move. It is in moments like these that I feel bad for letting the thoughts of leaving ever get in my head. Dauntless has been a home for me often, whether I deserve it or not, and however much I dislike the changes that have been growing in it. It has given me friends, and almost a _family_ , in the way they care for me. Here, I have at least got more than I ever got in my whole life in Abnegation. Respect, love, courage, freedom. Molded in black, I was remade here.

I hear footsteps near me and look over my shoulder, only to have my eyes caught on Tris walking towards me. I maintain eye contact only for an instant, but in that single moment, I feel a series of emotions barrel through me — more than I had felt through the entire month before — excitement, hurt, pleasure, pain, anger, frustration, and a strange burn, all through me. Is it even possible to feel so much all in a moment? But I forcefully close them all off, flicking them off like a switch. I can't let her see that I care so much. I _can't_ care so much. I don't look at her long enough to identify the emotions in her wide eyes, nor for her to read mine.

My eyes shift to the gray-clad arm she is tucked under, and my eyes widen as I recognize the lady. Natalie Prior. Suddenly the mystery of Tris' family is solved. She is the daughter of Andrew Prior, colleague and 'close' friend of my father. Tris Prior. The name has a nice flow to it. But at the moment, the only feeling I have as I stiffen, staring at Natalie's deep green eyes, is a desperate desire to escape. What if Natalie knows who I am, where I came from? What if she lets it slip here, surrounded by all these people?

I hope she won't know me. She can't possibly recognize me. I don't look anything like the shrunken little boy she knew, lanky and slouched and buried in fabric. Tobias Eaton's ashes were spread in the coals of Dauntless two years ago, and from them, Four was born. I like to think that my barrier is impenetrable, my secret safe, but as I have already seen with Eric, that isn't quite so. So now I look at Tris' mother and feel my jaw clenching, waiting for it.

She extends her hand for me to shake. She must be well-versed in Dauntless customs. "Hello. My name is Natalie," she says. "I'm Beatrice's mother."

 _Beatrice_. The name sounds so wrong for her. My eyes almost look at her, but I control myself at the last moment.

I clasp Natalie's hand and shake it awkwardly. I have never been fond of Dauntless hand-shaking. It's too unpredictable — I never know how tight to squeeze, or how many times to shake.

"Four," I say. "It's nice to meet you."

"Four," Natalie repeats, smiling. "Is that a nickname?"

"Yes." I say shortly, and quickly change the subject. "Your daughter is doing very well here. I've been overseeing her training."

"That's good to hear." Natalie smiles. "I know a few things about Dauntless initiation, and I was worried about her."

I feel the urge to look at Tris again. But I don't. I won't. Yet my heart aches to see her reaction to my words, or simply how she looks today, with her mother around. It must be a special day for her. Ugh, who cares? I won't look —

I look anyway. Just out of the corners of my eyes, I manage to sneak a glance at her without her noticing. She looks happy, some color in her pale cheeks. At the moment, I truly appreciate how much she has changed in the past week. Her body is taut, her limbs more muscular. Her figure very nearly suits the ferocity of her spirit. She looks very different from the moment she fell on the net, looking like the very impact would shatter her.

I focus on Natalie.

"You need not worry," I say. "She has shown surprising progress." _Extraordinary progress_. And there is not even a pinch of exaggeration in that statement.

"You look familiar for some reason, Four," Natalie observes. I would think her comment was lighthearted had her gaze not been so keen and piercing, as if she were pinning me down in place.

"I can't imagine why," I say as coldly as I can manage. My unapproachability, however it might put people off, is my only defense. "I don't make a habit of associating with the Abnegation."

She doesn't react the way I expect her to, with anger or fear. Instead, she laughs. She is a surprise, much like her daughter. "Few people do, these days. I don't take it personally."

Her comment makes me relax slightly. It takes off the possibility of guilt creeping up on me; I find myself actually liking this woman. If she has recognized me, she doesn't seem eager to show it.

"Well, I'll leave you to your reunion," I say. And without permitting myself to look at Tris, I walk away.

-o0o-

My heartbeat is still only about steadying as I walk down from the Pire. I still can't believe I got away this time. My plan for the control room didn't go as it was supposed to, but it could have gone so much worse. The footage of Max's office that I had saved last week allowed me to discover the password to his computer. Taking my chance, I sneaked into his office and planted a program so that my computer can mirror his. Now I will be able to get all the data from his computer that I want. On the downside, I very nearly got caught by Gus. It's still difficult to believe that I got away with my lie. I must be more careful in the future. I have been caught far too many times. But spying on Max's plans from the relative privacy of the control room will hopefully be safer and easier for me, and allow me to make some significant progress.

The crowd in the Pit has ebbed significantly, most of the families having returned now that afternoon has crept in and it is past lunch hour. The families still left must either be too emotional or too forgiving or too good. Either way, good for them. I just look away from them, unfeeling.

I don't know why or how exactly I spot her. Maybe it's because I have spent too much time thinking about her, and some part of my mind has taken it upon itself to spot her immediately, to look out for her unthinkingly, despite the repeated efforts I have been making to forget about her. That long blonde hair tied in a neat bun could belong to anyone, I try to tell myself, even though most people in Dauntless prefer to keep their hair short and weird. But my feet have already started moving without my permission in the general direction of the short figure moving towards the rock-cut path leading upwards, and when we are separated by a hundred yards, I can longer deny that the girl I am chasing is Tris. Nor can I understand why I am walking towards her. But her movements ring dim alarm bells in my mind — that path leads outside. And if she is planning to follow that, she is breaking the rules.

"Going somewhere?" I say when I am close enough to her.

She freezes at my words and slowly turns around, her eyes wide.

"I — to see my brother," she says awkwardly, stumbling over her words. "The Erudite have banned Abnegation visitors, so my mother can't go see him. She asked me to go on her behalf." My hunch was right.

"I'll go with you." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop to think. Why did I even offer? It's not like she is unaware of the rules. She can go out and get into trouble if she likes. Who cares?

But unfortunately, the answer is right before me too.

I do.

Tris' face turns very red at my offer. I try not to notice how the blush works miracles on her pale face. "You don't have to —"

"You were told that initiates are permitted to leave the headquarters only with a Dauntless, remember?" I remind her sternly, easily slipping behind the mask I always use in front of everyone. "So unless you want to be caught breaking the rules, it's not as if you have a choice."

She doesn't say anything, and taking her silence for acceptance, I take the lead, telling myself that the reason I gave her is the only one for me walking out of Dauntless right now. I almost convince myself. Almost.

We walk in a tight and uncomfortable silence. I don't turn back to look at her walking behind me, even though part of me wants to. The discomfort all too palpable between us tells me that she, too, has not forgotten about our quarrel of two days ago. I wonder what she feels about it.

We step out of the Dauntless building, the pale afternoon sun hitting me in the face. Tris' quiet footsteps follow me. I hate the constant tension between us, part of me itching to clear the air. But I don't. I am too proud and headstrong, and no stranger to sour silences. It's nothing I can't handle. But with every moment we walk together, I hate the situation more and more. I shouldn't have come with her. The distance was good; the distance was okay. It was what I needed — enough space for me to hide, enough time for me to forget, or at least, pretend. It is unsettling how this one small girl has upset everything in me — I can't ever think properly when I am near her, and all I can offer in these moments are vague answers or stupid comments which I spew before thinking. My emotions are haywire. And after Marcus and Evelyn, I thought no one else in the world could hurt me, break me, but then _she_ came and proved me completely wrong.

"Four! Wait a minute." Her voice startles me out of my musings. I turn around, keeping myself cold and distant, and raise an eyebrow at her for good measure.

 _"Ran out of walls to block out the world with?"_

No, Tris, I have enough. If that's what you would like to see.

"What is it?" I say in my instructor tone. Since there is not much hope here, her instructor is what I'll be. As I was supposed to.

"I — I need to talk to you for a second," she says.

Her request confuses me. Wasn't she the one screaming at me two days ago, refusing to even let me check her wound? What does she want now? I turn around nevertheless and retrace my steps back to her, so that we stand on the dusty pavement, her back to the Dauntless building.

"I—" she begins, then ducks her head and clears her throat. "I — um —"

My mouth presses into a thin line. What is she trying to do? Why does she need to draw out every moment of this painfully awkward conversation?

"Yes?" I prompt a little impatiently.

"I — I'm sorry," Tris blurts out. She stumbles over the words and speaks them so fast that they don't sound like words at all. My eyes widen. Did she just apologize to me?

"What?" I ask, just to confirm that I heard her right. I forget to sound cold and stern in my surprise.

"I'm sorry for how I behaved with you on the day of knife-throwing," Tris says, regaining her composure, her voice low and bashful. "I shouldn't have shouted at you or blamed you. My behavior was inexcusable. You did nothing wrong. I... I was just frightened then and, I don't know, I lost my head. In fact, I — thank you. For standing up for me in front of Eric. Could you — um, forgive me, please?"

It takes me a few seconds to process the full length apology she has suddenly thrown at me. I hadn't expected this. Through these days, I had grown to detect similarities between the two of us — the secrets that we cling onto, our decisions to leave Abnegation in favor of Dauntless, the cruelty and violence that we both nurse within us, and our reluctance to lower our heads in a situation. The pride. And knowing myself, I probably wouldn't have apologized, at least not so soon. I am too proud, too uptight. But here she shows me that she is actually better than me, with her ability to acknowledge her mistake and let go, and to actually humble herself and offer a sincere apology. Part of me wonders why she cares so much to go through the trouble.

Once she starts off, it's easy to take guidance and clear my head. The words come to my lips easily.

"I didn't do much," I say, shaking my head, smiling a little at how much credit she gives me, when all I did was keep my head low. "I could have done more, I guess. And it's okay, Tris." It feels like a weight has lifted from my chest as soon as the words leave my mouth, and I find myself smiling fully. I never realized until this moment how much I wanted to forgive her, or to be forgiven, whichever way it works — in any case, to set things right between us again. "You're forgiven. I'm sorry too," I add sincerely, knowing that I owe her an apology too for my harsh words. "I shouldn't have talked to you like that. You were incredibly brave."

"But stupid," she says, chuckling.

"Very," I agree, nodding. Good to see that she is at least understanding, or trying to, anyway. "I hope you will remember that. You need to survive here first, Tris. Being right can wait."

"Aye, aye, captain!" She mocks a salute, her laughter causing me to retain my smile.

"So, are we... okay?"

The tentative question is my undoing. Relief washes over me from head to toe as I let the words ring in my head — ' _Are we okay?'_ We. She is still giving a chance to 'us'. She wants to set things right. Things are not totally screwed up after all. I still have a chance with her. Smiling broadly as every negative feeling weighing on me lifts, I take a step towards her. A small voice in my head tries to remind me of restraint and secrecy and other points of logic, but I silence it.

Fuck logic. I couldn't care less about it right now.

In a couple of long strides, I close the distance between us, pressing Tris against the wall. I lean in, lightly trailing my lips over her cheeks and then on her pouty little lips, before resting them on her forehead. I don't have much knowledge about dating, but I want this touch to simply be reconciliatory, healing, to tell her without words how much this means to me. I run my fingers over her skin. It is smooth and warm. I know that we need to go, but somehow, I am not in a hurry. It feels nice, the sensation of her skin under my lips and my fingers, her quick exhales landing on my neck. I had thought in my early days in Dauntless, bound by my Abnegation restraints but a slave to the raging hormones in me nevertheless, what it would feel like to kiss a girl, to hold her close, to touch her. And now I know just how good it feels. I also know that it's not just because it's any girl, it's because this is Tris.

"What do you think?" I ask her, still not moving away from her.

"I can only hope that this is your definition of okay," she says tentatively.

"No." Resting my forehead against hers, I smile at her, losing myself in the intense gray and sky blue hues of her eyes, and the darker specks of navy blue floating in them. "This is my definition of 'better than okay'."

-o0o-

Together, we reach the train tracks. I steal glances at Tris out of the corners of my eyes, and it amuses me to note the big smile that has been a constant on her face ever since we made up.

"You seem very happy," I comment, my own lips twitching at the corners at her contagious happiness.

"Being forgiven is a good feeling," she replies.

"So it is," I agree with a smile. And I had never known it so well as now.

The train arrives, shaking the tracks and horn blaring, and I pull myself up first, before offering my hand to Tris. The feeling of her small hand in mine feels incredible, sending sparks everywhere up my arm. Who'd have thought the simple act of hand-holding could have felt this good?

We sit down facing each other as the train gathers speed. I don't want to be staring at her like a creep, but I can't keep my eyes off her. Several times, I catch Tris staring at me too. It ends up with one of us catching the other staring, and then both turning red and looking away. It's both amusing and endearing. I shake my head at my ridiculousness. What are we, teenage sweethearts?

The silence that stretches between us is comfortable, unlike the tight, oppressive one that had existed earlier. I look at Tris to observe her looking out of the door at the scenery outside, her stare misty and distant. Lost in some old memory? That, and the fact that we are both sitting in a train right now, reminds me of what Zeke had told me, and I decide to take advantage of the privacy to ask her some questions that have been stewing inside me for a while.

"So, I've heard that you have been showing extraordinary proficiency in the initiation steps right from the beginning," I begin lightly, almost casually. Tris blinks out of her reverie and looks at me in wide-eyed surprise.

"Who told you that?"

"Zeke," I say. When her confusion doesn't clear, I elaborate, "He has a younger brother who's among the initiates. I believe you know him."

"Oh, Uriah," she concludes, the name dripping off her tongue with easy familiarity, a fond smile on her face. All in an instant, I feel a sting of annoyance within. I remember how, according to Zeke, Uriah had been talking non-stop about Tris. He is a nice boy, funny, light-hearted and handsome. A good match for Tris. I hate that.

I snap out of the thoughts, which are growing more and more negative, and look at Tris.

"He said you climbed into the train perfectly, unassisted, and landed on the roof on your feet too," I recall. However, instead of taking in her stride, Tris looks down with a small frown, her cheeks splotchy. It's as if she didn't want these facts to be out. "Not to mention," I continue with a smile, remembering the moment we first met, "you were first jumper. And you have been great in the training too."

I look at her and she looks at me, but she looks almost caught in my stare, uncomfortable.

"Maybe I've had it hidden in me somewhere?" she says, but her words lack conviction. She sounds uncharacteristically nervous. "I didn't transfer from Abnegation for nothing, after all."

I tilt my head a little, about to nod but not quite managing it. There's something in there, something she is hiding, even in the act of being a proficient Dauntless.

"I don't know why, but somehow it seems like you have already been here," I blurt out, finally spilling the suspicions that have been brewing inside me. Hearing myself voice them sounds even more stupid. "Your behavior suggests it," I offer a lame justification.

Her reaction, however, is nothing like I had expected. She doesn't laugh at me, nor does she take offense at my attributing her skills to being experienced. She pales.

"Why on earth would that be, and more than that, how?" she says, her voice an octave higher than normal. "I'm sixteen. I'm an Abnegation transfer. How can I be familiar with the Dauntless? It's a ridiculous idea."

It is. And I would have let it go, agreeing with her, had all the evidence not been pointing in that absurd direction. And the fact that my observation seems to have hit her hard adds to that.

"I don't know, do I? That's why I am asking," I say, refusing to back down. "I have been training initiates from last year, Tris. Trust me, if anyone notices, it's me. You seem to be as comfortable in the Dauntless surroundings as any Dauntless-born. Plus, what was all that extra information about Eric and the Erudite?"

Her jaw slackens for a fraction of a second, her expression dismayed, before she pulls herself together. "You're mistaken," she says resolutely.

She is lying. I have no doubt about that now.

"You're definitely not cut out for Candor," I say with a wry smile at her stubbornness. "You're lying, Tris."

She runs her tongue over her lips, then presses them together.

"Well, you can stick to your theory, then," she says flatly. "I have nothing to add."

Her evasiveness is exasperating.

"Keeping secrets?" I say, shaking my head in annoyance. "It'll lead you nowhere."

Tris scowls. "You are one to speak!" she snaps. "I suppose you are offering your secrets on charity, then. Your vague answers to everything sure are the ultimate sources of enlightenment."

Ouch. Her temper. What frustrates me more is that she has a valid point, even though her tone stings. I have never trusted anyone with my secrets; who am I to ask her to open up?

I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to calm myself. "Fine!" I say, irritated, recognizing a losing battle, once again. "Forget I asked."

We fall into an angry, oppressive silence, Tris scowling at the passing scenery, resolutely looking anywhere but at me. I frown down at my hands, irritated at her for being so damn stubborn and secretive, and at me for bringing this up. I got nothing out of it, other than the facts that my suspicions are closer to the truth than I had expected and that Tris is very adamant about keeping the truth, whatever that is, to herself. Why did I even try? Now all that has happened is that we have ended up arguing mere minutes after making up. I can't help thinking where we stand now. Could this be called a relationship? What does she mean to me? How much do I mean to her? Ugh, why does everything have to be so complicated?

I look at Tris. Admittedly, even when she is angry, she looks adorable, her eyes flashing and her lips set in that irritated pucker. There is a small crease between her brows. I'd like to kiss that. A mischievous plan makes its way into my mind. If I can't achieve anything locking horns with her, maybe I can reach my goal the crooked way. I have no desire to keep us quarrelling anyway.

"Hey," I say softly, bringing her attention to me. Tris looks up, a little surprised, some of the anger still there. I smile at her, shifting closer so that we are touching, and drag her around easily so that her back presses against my chest. She gasps in surprise, which I take is a good sign. Encouraged, I run my fingers through her hair, brushing away the loose strands that have fallen out of the bun. It's beautiful, so smooth and soft, every strand delicately golden. The smell of Dauntless soap and her sweet perfume mingles in an enticing way, attracting me more than I though was possible. Leaning in, I press my lips to her neck, peppering her soft skin with kisses. I am enjoying myself so much that I almost forget my ulterior purpose. Well, this can easily be the entire purpose in itself. She is so sensitive to my touch, shivering and tilting her neck to give me greater access. Beautiful.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to argue," I murmur against her skin, hoping that her contented sigh is sign enough of forgiveness.

"You — you are wrong if — if you think you can, oh, get any information out of me this way," she says softly, her stuttering and breathy sighs doing amazing things to my confidence. I like how I affect her. I pull back, smiling at her mischievously. She saw through me. Clever girl.

"Can't I just kiss a beautiful girl?" I chuckle. She turns a very satisfying shade of red. Then I laugh, admitting defeat. "Damn, you know me too well, Tris."

She grins at me. "Sure I do, Tob— I , er, Four," she says, her smile faltering with her words. I find my grin slipping off my face too as my eyes widen. But before I can react, I realize that we have reached Erudite. Tris gets up quickly and walks to the door, and I follow her reluctantly. She faces away from me, so I have no way of analyzing her expression. I am contemplating whether to ask her the question which is on the tip of my tongue, when she says, "Any more questions, save them for later."

Her firm tone leaves no scope for argument. Any attempt otherwise on my part will lead us to an impasse again. So I give up for the while.

"Yes, ma'am," I say, laughing, trying to make light of the situation even as I am vexed at her refusal to trust me. What an exasperating girl. "Your attitude doesn't give me too much hope, though," I sigh.

Together, we jump off the train. She lands perfectly on her feet, not even stumbling; her hand doesn't even tug away from mine, perfectly in control. This is supposed to be her third time jumping off a moving train. Extraordinary, again.

We walk towards the looming Erudite headquarters, hand in hand. The large gray buildings make my skin prickle as I think of the schemes going on in them, of Jeanine Matthews keeping an eye on and plotting to kill the Divergent. I focus on the warm comfort of Tris' small hand in mine to keep the dark thoughts away. Our destination comes closer with every step, and I find myself more and more reluctant to go any further. But I do so anyway.

Suddenly, Tris stops and turns, and without warning, I find her soft lips pressed to mine. Before I can even begin to react, she pulls away. Blood rushes from every part of my body to collect in my face. I feel warm everywhere.

"What was that for?" I ask wonderingly, my hand lifting on its own accord to touch the corner of my lips, which still tingles from the kiss.

"For being here. With me," Tris replies, smiling shyly. I can't stop the silly grin from spilling on my face. I shift closer to her, placing my arm around her shoulder and pulling her to me.

"I should do more of good deeds, then," I say, smiling, my cheeks still warm. I just want to be here with her, holding her close to me, but knowing that we need to get going, I say regretfully, "Alright now, let's go." Tris nods and we continue our walk.

The Erudite buildings spread before us. The central building is the most important one — it holds the main office and reception. To my surprise, Tris appears certain and familiar to where we are going. She doesn't question when I take the route to the main building, and yet I sense that her silent agreement is not just allowing me to guide her; she knows where we are going, and is as much in the lead as I am.

"How do you know where to go?" I ask her.

"The central building — most important. It's obvious." Pat comes her reply.

"Clever," I acknowledge, smiling. She is brave, clever, hardy, beautiful. What more can one ask for?

As it is Visiting Day, the blue of Erudite is interspersed by the colors of the other factions. Although I don't spot any Dauntless in the crowd, Tris and I don't stand out as we would have, had it been any other day. Good.

We walk into the library where the Erudite desk is located. The place is quiet despite it being Visiting Day, the smell of books and the polished wooden floor all around. We approach the young receptionist. I try to ignore the large portrait of Jeanine Matthews above him. They make her look like a deity or something, they have raised her so high. In no other faction does the leader command so much respect. Maybe it's because she is the only one here.

"How can I help you?" the receptionist asks without looking up.

"We're here to see Caleb Prior," Tris says. The man's face does not show any expression. He jabs the screen at a few places.

"Caleb Prior is a transfer from Abnegation," he says blandly. "We aren't aware —"

I feel Tris stiffen beside me. Her hold on my hand tightens. "I'm Beatrice Prior. His sister," she cuts him off. "I know you aren't allowing the Abnegation members in your compound, but I am a Dauntless, as you must be blind to not notice, so I don't think there should be a problem." She speaks calmly enough, but the dangerous edge in her voice is evident. I resist the urge to smirk. Poor man. He doesn't know what he's signed up for. "Now," Tris leans towards the man a little, a very fake, sweet smile on her face, "if you could please call up Caleb Prior."

The man pales. Then he nods and types furiously into the computer. I chuckle to myself. Idiot.

"He will be here shortly," he informs us once he is done. "And you are?" He turns towards me. I hesitate. I know that the Erudite must have my records under the name of Tobias Eaton, but everyone knows me as Four. How can I just give out my real name here?

"Four," I decide. "From Dauntless."

"I presume you aren't family to Caleb Prior," the receptionist says.

"No. I came to escort Tris — Beatrice, here." Her real name sounds strange on my tongue. Not bad, really, just foreign. I wonder if she'll like me to call her that.

The receptionist nods. "I'm afraid that only the initiates' immediate family are permitted to meet them. I request you to wait outside. You please wait here for your brother, Miss Prior."

Damn. I don't like it; I don't like leaving her alone in a faction which I know has no good intentions where we are concerned. _Stop being paranoid_ , I tell myself. She is capable of protecting herself. And it's not like she will be attacked here or anything. The only thing I'll achieve in refusing to comply is making a scene. So I nod, albeit reluctantly.

"I'll be right there outside. Call me if you need any help," I tell Tris. She nods. "You can be rather frightening if you want," I can't resist from adding, a smile on my lips. "It's really entertaining."

She laugh. "Why, thank you!"

I give her hand a light squeeze and walk out of the library. The exterior of the Erudite quarters is open and airy, the crowds thinned considerably by now as the sun slowly shifts towards the west. I see people in blue sitting in pairs or in little groups, all with books in their hands, and most with glasses perched on their noses. Knowledge. That is their identity, their desire, their passion. Everything. I wonder why they don't care about anything else, just like we Dauntless don't bother about anything which isn't reckless and daring. Isn't there a brave Erudite or a Dauntless who wants to learn? But in giving priority to the value they care for the most, the people leave behind other qualities which can make them better — the faction system's biggest shortcoming. The ink etched on my back, covering my scars, remind me that. I want to be all of them — greater than just Dauntless or Abnegation. I want to be whole.

I stroll into the large patch of bare land interspersed by metal and concrete — the Millennium park, just 'Millennium' now, because it isn't worthy of being called a park anymore, and rest against a metal structure. I stare up at the blue sky which is slowly taking up a streak of orange near the west. In this moment of solitude, I am at leisure to think. And there is so much to think about. Tris, for one thing. Her words to me before we arrived in Erudite hit me.

" _Sure I do, Tob — I, er, Four."_ It was a small slip, and a quick one, but I am nearly sure that she almost called me Tobias. How is that? Does this mean that in her sleep, she had been talking about me too? I don't let the little part of my heart which wants to do a little dance at that take over; I need to think. How can Tris possibly know my name? One way would be that Natalie Prior recognized me and revealed my real identity to her, but that can't explain her sleep-talking, which happened several days before. God, another new riddle, and I am no closer to getting the answers to the previous ones. I'll go mad trying to wrap my thoughts around this mystery.

I look at my watch; it has been ten minutes since I left Tris. I make my way closer to the Erudite buildings so that Tris can find me easily. I look at the precise architecture of the establishments before me. What is going on in Erudite? What is Jeanine planning? It's all a big puzzle, one I have a feeling I need to solve urgently. Something tells me that whatever is going on can't be good. And since Max is involved, somehow or the other we Dauntless are in this scheme too. I can imagine why — Dauntless is the faction which holds the military power of the city. If any faction wishes to wage a war against another, they'll need Dauntless. I develop a hazy image of the situation as I walk — the Erudite are up to something, and that something must involve a requirement of Dauntless militia. Most likely an attack on another faction. This is definitely bad.

I'll have to keep a close watch on Max.

I spot Tris pushing past the few families that are yet to leave. I walk over to meet her. Unexpectedly, her expression shows none of the happiness or nostalgia that one might feel after meeting a family member. Her lips curve downwards, her eyes hard and angry.

"It didn't go well?" I ask. "You look..." I pause, unsure how to phrase it, "— unhappy," I finish.

Tris lowers her head. The anger visibly evaporates from her, replaced by dejection.

"He was more surprised to see me than anything," she says. "I'm afraid he's becoming a suck-up to Jeanine. He's believing every word that she says. I — he doesn't even believe in the Abnegation anymore. His own faction! He should know better than anyone not to believe in all the lies that the Erudite spread."

I don't speak, not knowing what might be appropriate; I am not great with consolations and other emotional shit. Instead, I reach for her hand and hold it in mine, hoping for my gesture to provide her comfort.

Together, we walk to the tracks and jump into the train carriage. Part of the journey goes in silence. My thoughts refuse to move from Tris. As much as I think, I can't find any answer to the mystery that she is. Each question is covered by yet another question every time I try to find the answer. The only hypothesis that sticks to my head is that it's 'been there, done that' for her, but I can't explain how that can be, so I am forced to give up. The fact that she might know my real name makes me insecure. How much does she know about me? Surely if she knows my name (and yet I hang on to this half-hope, half-fear that she doesn't, and that it was all an illusion), she can't know just that about me. What else does she know, then? The more I think, the more strung up I become. It's no good.

"What are you thinking about?" Tris' voice brings me back to reality.

"You," I admit. "You are a mystery." Maybe it will make her reveal something about herself.

But much to my disappointment, she only gives a small smile. "Aren't most people?" she says with a chuckle, efficiently closing the topic.

I sigh, drawing back to my shell. My thoughts turn to the recent events. Tris' meeting with her brother didn't go well. I remember her talking about him on the day of Capture the Flag. They were close, but the transfer caused them to drift apart. I recall how she said that she thinks she never knew him well at all. I try to imagine what he might be like, developing a vague image from her words — a Stiff hiding his thirst for knowledge, now probably with a pair of glasses on his nose. I wonder how he'd react to his sister dating. It would have been rather interesting if we met. Is he as extraordinary as his sister? Holding secrets like her? In my heart, I feel not. Maybe I'm biased, but to me, only this girl can be that special.

"I'd have liked to meet your brother," I say to Tris. She looks at me, surprised.

"Didn't think you'd be so eager about the meeting-the-big-brother part of being a boyfriend so soon," she says lightly, laughing. "We aren't even official yet."

"No, I just —" I begin, before the entirety of her statement fits into my brain. Wow, did she just — "Wait, did you just call me your boyfriend?" I ask, wide-eyed. It seems too good to be true. But the way her face reddens answers for her, and I find a ridiculous smile lifting my lips.

"N-not exactly," she stammers, squirming a little. Her embarrassment is extremely endearing. "Do you want me to?"

 _Yes. A hundred times yes._

I lean closer to her and press my forehead to hers.

"Yes," I say, smiling so broadly that my jaw might break. This is it. Yes. Yes! I'm such an idiot. But I feel ridiculously happy, far too happy to care. "But only on one condition."

She falters, her smile slipping. "What?"

"I know you are hiding things from me, but I will respect your privacy," I say. "Maybe later, one day, we can trust each other enough to keep nothing between us. Just promise me that you secrets aren't so bad that they will damage things between us. If they might, tell me now. I'll understand — or at least, I'll try. Can you promise me this much, Tris?" I know the importance of privacy; I myself have far too many secrets. I wouldn't like anyone to pry, and I know that in her case, she wouldn't, either. Eventually, we'll trust each other, when we are both ready. As much as her secrets intrigue me, I will back off for now.

Tris hesitates for a second. I feel a stab of worry; could it really be that her secrets are so terrible? Would she tell them to me now? But then she nods firmly, and says, "I promise."

I smile, relieved. We have moved forward a lot in one day. We weren't talking for two days, and now we have made up, come to an understanding about our relationship and cemented it in spite of our respective secrets. Trust is an important factor in a relationship, but we will get there in time.

"Then we are okay," I say, and reach over to kiss her. And with her soft, delicious lips gliding over mine, we aren't just okay. We are better. We are perfect.

* * *

 **There, a long chapter with a fair share of fluff. Until next time!**


	7. Interlude With a Knife

**New chapter here! Thank you so much to everyone of my readers and reviewers, favoriters and followers, for your amazing support!**

 **This chapter contains both chapters 8 and 9 of The Return from Four's POV.**

 **T** **obias' conversation with Max is taken almost verbatim from Four: The Traitor, which I don't own. That being said, I have already, and will use, direct references from Four (the four shorts by V. Roth) in several places, in this story.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 7: Interlude with a Knife**_

Once we reach Dauntless, Tris and I prepare to separate out practically unceremoniously. Not that I would have it any other way; as much as I love the fact that we have cleared things between us, I cannot let our relationship reach other ears. Or eyes for that matter, I think as I warily glance at a security camera which I know is near the entrance while walking in with her. As much as I would like to touch her or kiss her again, I need to restrain myself for the safety of us both. I settle for a small smile, taking her hand and squeezing it once before letting go as we stand in a hallway leading towards the Pit. Tris seems fine with this, returning my smile with a breathtaking one of hers. Thank God. I wouldn't like a repeat of our misunderstanding of two days ago.

"The rankings for stage one will be out today," I tell her.

"Yeah," she replies with a small smile, "I know." Her eyes are a little worried, but not as much as I would expect from most initiates.

"I'll see you at the dorm after dinner, then," I say as a sort of goodbye. She nods, and I shift from one foot to the other, trying to leave but still seeming to want something more.

I realize what that something is when her lips press against mine in a quick and chaste kiss. I can't help my smile when she pulls back.

"We should be careful," I warn her, although in my heart I want to be anything but.

"I know." She chuckles. "I'll remember that."

 _I'd rather you didn't._ Heat creeps up in a slow trail up my neck at the thought.

"Those birds, are they crows?" I ask instead, eyeing the tattoo on her collarbone, not quite knowing why I am drawing out the inevitable goodbye.

"Ravens," she replies, smiling. "One for each of my family." I nod, impressed at her sensitivity. Most tattoos of Dauntless have stories to tell, sentiments to remind one of. "They look good on you." _I'd like to kiss them._ The unexpected thought makes me blush again.

She turns a lovely shade of pink. "Thank you."

With a nod and a smile, we go our own ways.

I've never been in a proper relationship before, but as I walk towards my apartment, I decide that I could get used to this. My smile, which refuses to budge from my lips, certainly seems to say so.

-o0o-

Once I settle down in my apartment, I busy myself in finalizing the rankings of stage one. I have the sole rights of assigning points to the transfers based on their performance, being their instructor. Eric, despite overseeing the fights, has no part in this. I am glad. The image of the two of us sitting and discussing the rankings like best mates at school is simply hilarious in its impossibility; I doubt if we would finish the job without sneering at each other every few moments.

My list is complete, based on all the fights which ended yesterday; I run my eyes through my notes, analyzing the details and cross-checking them, ensuring that I have not made any mistakes in my judgment. When I am satisfied, I jot the names down on a piece of paper.

Edward has ranked first; no surprise here. In the seven days of training, he has not lost a single match. He plays fair, his attacks calculated and methodical. He should prove to be a valuable asset to Dauntless.

I can't help my scowl as I write down Peter's name in the second position. He has lost only to Edward, thus earning himself the position, but it is no secret to me that the boy shows psychopathic tendencies. He is a natural bully, a liar (which is ironic, him coming from Candor), and enjoys preying on the weak. Rumors from the control room which have reached my ears talk of his attempts at bullying Tris, though apparently, Tris handled things well enough. I expect nothing less from her. The rules force me to award and deduct points based solely on the fights, otherwise, if I had the power, Peter wouldn't have the position. I have deducted points on his dirty tricks, but he still stands second. Oh well.

I can't fight a smile as I write the third name. Tris. With her slight figure and conservative background, anyone would expect her to be last, or at least somewhere near the bottom, ready to get cut. But no, she is _third_. She's even beat Will, who is much taller and more muscular than her. I feel a surge of pride for her as my pen scribbles down the four letters on the paper. She did it, and she did well. But with that, I also feel a slight pang of anxiety; she has proved herself now, shown everyone that she isn't the weak, fragile girl she seems. Eric is already interested in her resilience. I hope this interest does not stay.

I write down the remaining six names. I feel bad as I write Al's and Myra's ones at the bottom. I'll have to talk to Lauren to compare the points of the Dauntless-borns, but looking at the points, I can guess that these two, at least, are leaving. The Dauntless-borns have an inherent advantage in violence, and even the lousiest of them are often better than many transfers, although their stage one is more difficult than the transfers and equally challenging to them. I pity Al; physically, the boy had potential. He could have gone far if he had managed to refine his strength like Edward. But he refuses to use violence. I don't know whether his stubbornness deserves praise or exasperation, but to me, the boy was better suited for Amity. Dauntless won't forgive his behavior.

After having a quick dinner, I go to the training room and pull down the chalkboard; we won't need it here anymore. After copying out the final list on it, I head for the transfers' dormitory.

I walk in to an almost empty room. Most of the initiates aren't back from dinner yet; a quick inspection tells me that Tris isn't, either. Even as I stand, they begin walking in. Edward and Myra were already present, deep in conversation which seems quite intimate. Peter and Molly enter, talking, their faces expectant. Will slips in with Al right after. As they notice me, all of them suddenly clamber to attention, their eyes expectant and worried, like junior-level students at a teacher's entry. I deliberate about waiting for Tris, but now that all the initiates are looking at me, I can't just stand here. I walk to the wall were the rankings will be hanged and place the board against my legs such that no one can see the list. I smirk internally as I see Peter trying to peer at it but slumping, disappointed, at the sight of the blank backside.

"I am here to announce the rankings of stage one of your initiation," I tell them, running my fingers over the chalk in my hand. "I'll explain to you how the ranks are determined, and I'll explain only once, so pay attention. You had several rounds of fight in these seven days. After the first round of fights, we ranked you according to your skill level. The number —"

At that moment, the remaining initiates — Drew, Christina and Tris walk into the dormitory. My eyes meet Tris' for just a second, before she disappears at the back of the crowd of initiates, just a bit of her blonde hair visible from here.

"For those of you who just came in, I'm explaining how the ranks are determined," I say. "After the first round of fights, we ranked you according to your skill level. The number of points you earn depends on your skill level and the skill level of the person you beat. You earn more points for improving and more points for beating someone of a high skill level. I don't reward preying on the weak. That is cowardice." I stare pointedly at Peter for a second, hoping that he knows that I am talking especially about him. The boy's expression doesn't change; he stares back at me, looking as wide-eyed and innocent as ever. I look away.

"If you have a high rank, you lose points for losing to a low-ranked opponent."

Molly lets out an unpleasant noise, like a snort or a grumble. I smirk internally; she must be reminded of losing to Tris.

"Stage two of training is weighted more heavily than stage one, because it is more closely tied to overcoming cowardice," I explain, thinking of how I will be rifling through their minds in two days. The thought isn't as pleasant as some might find it. "That said, it is extremely difficult to rank high at the end of initiation if you rank low in stage one.

"We will announce the cuts tomorrow. The fact that you are transfers and the Dauntless-born initiates are not will not be taken into consideration. Four of you could be factionless and none of them. Or four of them could be factionless and none of you. Or any combination thereof. That said, here are your ranks."

Finishing my speech, I hang the board on the wall, moving aside to let them see the results.

All eyes are glued to the board at once, everyone forgetting my presence in their excitement.

I look from one face to another, observing the emotions on them. Edward looks happy, triumphant even. Myra, on the other hand, looks dismayed; she claps her hand over her mouth, her eyes brightening with unshed tears. Peter's look is somewhere between satisfied and angry, if that is even possible — the narrow-eyed stare he gives Edward when he thinks no one is watching doesn't sit well with me. Tris looks stunned; I think she didn't expect her rank to be so high. Al's face is a study of dejection. His lips tremble. The others, curiously enough, are frowning at the list and muttering, like they have seen something unbelievable and don't like it at all. Molly's words make it clear to me moments later.

"She is _third_?" Her voice rises above everyone else's. "The _Stiff_? She doesn't have a pound of muscle on her! This is absurd!"

Jealousy. That's the emotion that develops best in this competitive atmosphere. The same emotion is working in Molly and Drew, and if their looks are anything to judge by, Will and Christina. They aren't looking at their own ranks; they are looking at Tris', and taking insult at a slight Stiff girl beating them. I frown at this. It's not at all sportsmanlike.

"It didn't quite seem so when she beat you, Molly," I say, unable to quell the wave of cruel pleasure as I remember Tris fighting the not at all likeable girl. "I recall you couldn't walk straight for two days." It's a cruel jab, but it is also the truth, and I don't feel any remorse as I see Molly's face redden with humiliation.

My job done, I move out of the dormitory to give the initiates their space. I lock eyes with Tris at the last moment, and although I can't offer her a smile with her fellow initiates around, I can't prevent the slight twitch of my lips. She keeps her expression neutral too, but the brilliant intensity of her eyes as she looks at me does all the work.

I hunt out Lauren near Tori's tattoo parlor.

"Did you announce the rankings?" I ask her.

"Just coming from the dormitory." She nods at me, tipping the bottle she is holding at me in a form of greeting. "Let's check how many are gonna get cut, shall we?"

I nod, and we settle down on two of the unoccupied stools by Tori's counter.

"Not here for tattoos, I guess, you two?" Bud, who sits on the other side for his shift, asks.

"Not today, Bud," Lauren says. "Although I'll be here on Thursday. I've been eyeing those claw designs over there for a while." She offers me her drink. "Try it? Jerry's latest concoction. Burns like hell, but it's brilliant."

I wave her off. "Thanks, but no thanks."

She shakes her head with a chuckle. "Spoilsport."

We compare the scores of the low rankers among the transfers and the Dauntless-borns. My guess turns out to be right — two Dauntless-borns are cut, and among the transfers, Al and Myra.

"So Derek and Bo from here," Lauren murmurs, striking the names out from her list.

"And Al and Myra here." I mimic her action on my own list.

"Poor losers. Hope they live happily ever after with the factionless," Lauren says, a little too cruelly in my opinion. Most of the faction members have no idea of what's going on among the factionless, about just how organized they are. They wouldn't be talking so disdainfully about them if they had.

I bid goodbye to Lauren and head out, checking my watch. It's ten. I wonder if I can get some time to look into Max's files at the control room. At night, there are only three workers in the control room, and it's much easier to do what you want to unnoticed. I head towards the Pire, taking the long, winding path up instead of the lift. Anything works other than that small, closed space. I am so used to the exercise now, walking up the path most of the times, I don't even need to pause to catch my breath any longer, unlike my earlier days here.

I am relieved to see that Gus isn't here in the control room. I walk in without a word and sit down at my computer, logging in with a fake username I had created several months ago so that no one can track my actions back to me.

"Yo bro!" I turn to see Zeke looking at me from a chair a few seats away. "What are you doing here? I don't think you had a shift now."

"No, I just thought I might work a little overtime," I lie with a shrug.

"Overkill, mate." Zeke shakes his head. "You work too much. I'd take a break if I were you."

"I like to work," I reply shortly.

"Hey, can I ask for a favor?" he says. "If you could keep a lookout here for a while on my behalf, I'd go say hi Shauna. She is returning from the fence tonight."

I nod. "Sure."

"Thanks man." Zeke smiles with genuine gratitude. "She should be here any minute now. I'll be back in a while."

I sit and fire up the program that links my computer to Max's. It takes time to load Max's screen, the blue ribbon signifying the progress increasing in length with an excruciatingly slow pace. I tap my finger impatiently on the table. The second operator, sitting five computers away, is nodding off, eyes closed, and the third one doodling something on a piece of paper. No one is noticing my actions. I look back to the screen. Ninety seven percent loaded, ninety eight. Ninety nine. And done. Lord.

Max labels his folders by number. I open each of them, closing them swiftly when I find nothing useful. Most of them are benign, containing lists of Dauntless members, scheduled events, political schemes to be discussed in the government. Nothing worth suspecting. At length, I find something strange. A list. But it is not of initiates. It is a count of weapons. I frown. I didn't realize that Dauntless needed to keep count of their weapons like this. More importantly, it tallies the weapons count with the count of Dauntless population. This cannot be simple statistics of the weaponry, not like this. Unable to come to any particular conclusion other than that it must have something to do with an attack, I close the file. I stow the facts away in the recesses of my mind. I'll think about it later.

Zeke's voice precedes him into the room, effectively ending my search.

"Honey, I'm back," he calls, jolting the second operator out of his nap. I'd have rolled my eyes, except that I am too business hiding the traces of my research. I hurriedly hit the close button and pull up the window connecting the cycle of security footages a moment before Zeke comes into view.

"Thank you," he grins at me, flopping down on his chair. "I owe you one."

I nod and take leave of the control room. My search ends for tonight.

The night isn't kind enough to me to allow me a calm, dreamless sleep. I dream that I'm walking through the hallways of the Pire, and I'm alone, but the corridors don't end, and the view from the windows doesn't change, lofted train tracks curving into tall buildings, the sun buried in clouds. I feel like I'm walking for hours, and when I wake with a start, it's like I never slept at all.

Then I hear a knock, and a voice shouting, "Open up!"

My heart jolts in my ribcage at the sound. This feels more like a nightmare than the tedium I just escaped — I'm sure it's Dauntless soldiers coming to my door because they found out I'm Divergent, or that I'm spying on Max, or that I've been in touch with my factionless mother in the past year. All things that say 'faction traitor.'

Dauntless soldiers coming to kill me — but as I walk to the door, I realize that if they were going to do that, they wouldn't make so much noise in the hallway. And besides, that's Zeke's voice.

Stupid of me. Or maybe I'm just paranoid.

"Zeke," I say when I open the door, unable to keep a scowl off my face. "What's your problem? It's the middle of the night."

But the look on his face quickly wipes the annoyance out of my system, only to replace it with a sense of foreboding. There's a line of sweat on his forehead, and he's out of breath. He must have run here. It takes a lot to knock the joking temperament out of Zeke. Whatever has happened can't be good.

"You know I was working the night shift in the control room," he says. "Something happened in the transfer dorm."

My thoughts immediately jump to Tris, her wide blue-gray eyes springing at me from the recesses of my memory. My teeth sink into my bottom lip.

"What?" I ask him, hearing the barely concealed anxiety in my voice. "To whom?"

"Walk and talk," Zeke says. His words don't do anything to ease my worries. If anything, I feel my insides tightening even more.

I put on my shoes and pull on my jacket and follow him down the hall.

"What happened?" I ask again, more insistently.

"Not exactly sure how things happened, it was dark," Zeke says. "There was an attack."

"And?" I hadn't even realized that my fists are clenched. "Who got hurt?"

"The Stiff."

I stop in my tracks. Zeke walks a few steps before noticing that I am not following.

"Four?" He turns and jogs back. "What —?"

"What happened to her? Who attacked her? Is she —"

"Hey, slow down," Zeke says. "She got slashed in the arm. The attack wasn't on her. By the location, I'd say the target was that Erudite boy. Blonde one."

"Will?"

"No, the other one."

"Edward."

"Yes. She must have stepped in and saved him, but got hurt."

I nod, my heart beating fast. "Was Tris taken to the infirmary?"

"Yes. Her friends took her."

"Who did you tell?"

"Night supervisor. He went to tell Eric, Eric said he would handle it."

"Sure he will." _As if._ The meaning behind 'handling' is that Eric will do nothing about this. Things like an arm being slashed or an eye taken out doesn't mean much to him. The knife throwing scene and having the girls hang over the chasm is proof enough. I turn towards the transfer dormitory.

"Where are you going?" Zeke asks.

"I want to have a few words with Edward."

-o0o-

In the transfers dormitory, no one is asleep. The lights are on, and the initiates huddled in little groups, talking.

The first thing I notice is the blood. It's turning a dull shade of reddish-brown, having dried up eventually. I am no stranger to blood, and I have no trouble keeping my nerve over its sight and smell, but now, looking at the splashes of red splattered all over the floor, my stomach turns. Because it's _her_ blood. It is a sign of how much she has lost, how bad the attack must be. On the floor, coated with blood, is a butter knife.

Edward is in his bed, his face still white, looking quite shaken. Myra is at his side, speaking to him softly and stroking his hair. I walk over to him.

"Edward," I address him, "Could we talk?"

"Of course," he says, his voice feebler than I have ever heard. He climbs down from the bunk, looks at the dried blood on the floor and shudders. I make a mental note to send someone in to clean it. He nods and smiles a little at Myra, and walks away with me. At the door, I cast a look at the initiates. Christina and Will are sitting on the same bed, whispering together. They look at me warily. I notice Al's not with them.

"Where is Al?" I ask them.

"He's with Tris," Christina says, and I note the hardness of her voice as she says Tris' name with some confusion. I am tempted to ask why _they_ aren't with her too, when they are supposed to be best friends, but I remind myself that it is none of my business. Molly is in her bunk, looking smug for some reason.

Peter and Drew are absent.

Well, it doesn't take a genius to figure out who the psychopath in the group is.

I pull Edward aside in the hallway.

"What happened?" I ask, not wasting words in comforting him. It's not something I am good at.

"I was sleeping, when I woke up to voices," he says, still pale. "And there was Peter, with a wild look and a knife in his hands. Tris was restraining him. They fought. That was when she got slashed. There was so much blood, and she was screaming..." Edward shivers, and a chill runs down my spine as I think of Tris.

"Did you get hurt in any way?" I ask.

"No, Tris got there first. If it weren't for her..." he trails off uncertainly. "I should have listened to her. She told me to be careful of Peter, but I ignored her."

"All right, then. You should get some rest, Edward. Get something from the nurse if you have any trouble sleeping."

"I will, thank you." Edward nods. A vengeful look crosses his eyes. "He won't get away with this, will he?" he says, his voice cold and angry as compared to his earlier tone. "That psychopath —"

"I'll try my best to have actions taken against the attackers," I say, withholding the fact that I have no great faith in Dauntless justice.

After leaving Edward, I head straight for infirmary. I had wanted to go see Tris as soon as I got the news from Zeke, but I had expected Tris' friends to be there with her, so I let my mind take the lead instead of my heart. But I can't wait any more.

She lies very still in her bed, her hair spread around her in a wild mane. Her chest rises and falls slowly as she sleeps, her left arm covered in bandages. Her face is covered in bruises at several places. She fought two well-muscled boys, if my conjectures are anything to go by. And she fought well.

I sit down silently by her head, looking at the clock to see the early hours of the morning creeping up. My fingers reach her forehead, slowly moving over her skin, tracing the edges of her bruises every now and then. I gently twist the strands of her hair, carefully untangling a knot when I find one. I love the feeling of her hair against my fingers, each strand with its silken texture. She shifts a little, and I freeze. But she doesn't wake, only sighs a little in her sleep, allowing me to continue my ministrations. My fingers work on their own, moving from her hair to trace her jawline. Time loses its significance as I simply stare at her closed eyes and slightly parted lips, every detail of her face so close and all too clear.

"Her wound was quite nasty," a voice breaks me out of my reverie. I look up, realizing with a start that I had leaned far too close to her.

"Helena," I acknowledge our other nurse, Jane's sister. They are almost identical, even with the vast array of piercings on them.

"Jane saw to her," Helena says, nodding at Tris. "But I saw the wound when the girl came in — I don't know what's going on, Four, but I don't think initiates walking in with six inch long knife wounds is a thing that is supposed to happen."

"I'm looking into it," I say. Helena nods and retreats into her office.

I spend some more time with Tris. I feel I could stay all day with her, at least until she wakes, but I have other responsibilities, so pressing a kiss to her forehead, I leave.

Two years in Dauntless and my job at the control room have taught me enough about the Dauntless compound. Besides, the place isn't so large that I don't know where people live. Max's apartment is buried deep in the underground corridors of the compound, near a back door that opens up right next to the train tracks outside. I march toward it, following the blue emergency lamps run by our solar generator.

I pound on the metal door with my fist, not at the best level of patience. He yanks the door open a few seconds later, his feet bare and his eyes wild. I woke him up the same way Zeke woke me up.

"What happened?" he says.

"There was a fight in the transfers' dormitory. One of my initiates had her arm cut up," I say.

"And you came here? Didn't someone inform Eric?"

"Yeah. That's what I want to talk to you about. Mind if I come in?"

I don't wait for an answer — I brush past him and walk into his living room. He flips on the lights, displaying the messiest living space I've ever seen, used cups and plates strewn across the coffee table, all the couch cushions in disarray, the floor gray with dust.

"I want initiation to go back to what it was before Eric made it more competitive," I say, "and I want him out of my training room."

"You don't really think it's Eric's fault that an initiate got hurt," Max says, crossing his arms. "Or that you're in any position to make demands."

"Yes, it's his fault, of course it's his fault!" I say, louder than I mean to be. "If they weren't all fighting for one of ten slots, they wouldn't be so desperate they're ready to attack each other! He has them wound up so tight, of course they're bound to explode eventually!"

Max is quiet. He looks annoyed, but he isn't calling me ridiculous, which is a start.

"You don't think the initiate who did the attacking should be held responsible?" Max says. "You don't think he or she is the one to blame, instead of Eric?"

"Of course he — she — whoever — should be held responsible," I say. "But this never would have happened if Eric —"

"You can't say that with any certainty," Max says.

"I can say it with the certainty of a reasonable person."

"I'm not reasonable?" His voice is low, dangerous, and suddenly I remember that Max is not just the Dauntless leader who likes me for some inexplicable reason — he's the Dauntless leader who's working closely with Jeanine Matthews, the one who appointed Eric, the one who probably had something to do with Amar's death.

"That's not what I meant," I say, trying to stay calm.

"You should be careful to communicate exactly what you mean," Max says, moving closer to me. "Or someone will start to think you're insulting your superiors."

I don't respond. He moves closer still.

"Or questioning the values of your faction," he says, and his bloodshot eyes drift to my shoulder, where the Dauntless flames of my tattoo stick out over the collar of my shirt. I have hidden the five faction symbols that cover my spine since I got them, but for some reason, at this moment, I am terrified that Max knows about them. Knows what they mean, which is that I am not a perfect Dauntless member; I am someone who believes that more than one virtue should be prized; I am Divergent.

"You had your shot to become a Dauntless leader," Max says. "Maybe you could have avoided this incident had you not backed out like a coward. But you did. So now you have to deal with the consequences."

His face is showing his age. It has lines it didn't have last year, or the year before, and his skin is grayish brown, like it was dusted with ash.

"Eric is as involved in initiation as he is because you refused to follow orders last year—" I know he is referring to me stopping all the fights before the injuries became too severe, against Eric's command that the fighting only stop when one person was unable to continue. I nearly lost my position as initiation instructor as a result; I would have, if Max hadn't gotten involved.

"—and I wanted to give you another chance to make it right, with closer monitoring," Max says. "You're failing to do so. You've gone too far."

The sweat I had worked up after hearing about Tris has gone cold. Now I feel a definite chill down my spine as I hear Max.

"Get out of my apartment and deal with your initiates," Max says. "Don't let me see you step out of line again."

"Yes, sir," I say quietly, and recognizing defeat, leave.

I was a fool. A fool to believe that I could sway the system, that no matter what happens, I would still be Max's favorite, to be welcomed with open arms whenever I chose to come to him. I thought I was invincible, that on some level, Max trusted me. But I was so wrong. I lost my chance of becoming a leader, being the coward that I am. If I were in Eric's position today, maybe Al wouldn't be forced to resort to losing intentionally, Christina wouldn't be forced to hang from the Chasm and throw knives at her friend, the initiates wouldn't be hung on a line, fighting tooth and nails to get to the top. Edward wouldn't be a target for being too good. Tris wouldn't be in the infirmary with her arm ripped through.

But could I have done what I wanted even as a leader? All Max has ever wanted me to be was a pawn — that's what my mother told me. And I can't be a pawn, I won't be.

The problem is that I don't know what I should be instead.

-o0o-

I walk into the transfers' dorm the second time in a few hours, my eyes not permitted to a second of sleep. I feel defeated, exhausted, and more than just physically. Everything feels wrong. I feel more distant from the faction that has been my refuge than ever. Only the thought of the girl sleeping in the infirmary keeps me from walking out right away.

"Initiates," I call them to attention. They clamber down from their bunks, staring at me expectantly. Al and Myra look devastated, obviously guessing their fates.

"After comparing the results of the Dauntless-borns with the transfers, the cuts have been decided," I say. "The two of you who ranked last will leave Dauntless to become factionless." My eyes land on Al and Myra. Al's lips tremble, and tears spill from his eyes. I stop myself from turning away in vexation. Marcus' words still ring in my ears — _Men do not cry. Tears are signs of weakness._ They won't go away, no matter what I try. Myra looks down, her long hair hiding her face from me. I suspect she is crying too.

"You are expected to leave by today evening," I continue cruelly, "You will be transported to the factionless sector when you are ready."

I turn to leave, my job done, feeling sick at heart and loathsome.

"Four."

I turn to Edward, who has spoken, my eyebrows raised. I never noticed how pale he was.

"I'd like to have a word."

I nod at him, and he walks out with me into the hallway where I had interrogated him hours ago.

"I —" he pauses and takes a deep breath. "I want to leave."

"Sorry?" I ask, the detached quality of my voice broken at my surprise. "I don't think I understand."

"I want to leave Dauntless with Myra," Edward says. " _I'll_ become factionless. Al can stay."

"There is a system, Edward," I tell him sternly. "Al's rank requires him to leave."

"Yes, but if I leave, there is space for him, right?" Edward insists, and I admire his courage for talking back to me. "I want to leave. I volunteer."

"Why?" I can't stop myself from asking. "You ranked first. There is huge prospect for you in Dauntless once you are initiated."

"I know," Edward sighs, and for a second, he looks like he might relent. But then his jaw hardens. "I want to stay with Myra," he says simply. "I love her."

Love. It's a strange thing, a powerful one, foreign to me in a way. This boy before me wants to leave everything he has created for himself, for a girl he loves. It seems ridiculous, impossible even, but then I think of how I have stopped making plans for leaving Dauntless, ever since I met Tris. Is this love? I don't know; it's too early for my damaged soul to tell. But with that thought, I feel like I understand the boy's sentiment, on some level.

"Very well," I sigh. "I will make the required announcements. You are sure of your decision?" Max won't be happy with me; letting go of Dauntless' top initiate would be a blow to its potential.

"Yes," Edward says, his voice sure and unwavering.

I walk back into the transfers' dormitory to deliver the news.

"There has been a change in the situation," I say. "Edward has volunteered to leave Dauntless for personal reasons. So Al, you are permitted to stay here."

Everyone looks shocked, stunned. Myra stares at me like I have grown a second head, and then with a choking sob, runs out of the room. Al looks disbelieving, but under that, relief is beginning to show. In his bunk, I see Peter and Drew. Peter looks triumphant. I stare at him for a few moments, and then walk away.

I have no doubt who were behind the attack. But today's conversation with Max has also left me with no doubt that no action will be taken against them.

I return to my apartment, my head held high, but only as a facade for the people passing by, with no intention of stepping out anytime soon.

-o0o-

I wander in an empty hallway, unsure what to do. I want to go to the control room and search Max's files again, to find something that might make sense. But the control room is busy especially during lunchtime, and I cannot risk getting caught again. Shauna is enjoying her stay in Dauntless before she has to return to the fence in a day or two; Zeke is with her. I could, in fact, should, go spend time with them, but at the moment, I just don't feel up for company.

Suddenly, someone barrels right into me. The person is light and small, because the impact doesn't even make me stumble much.

"Ouch! I'm sorry, I wasn't looking where I was heading and I — " The immediate spout of apologies makes me smile, because it's _her_ voice. I look at her the same time she looks at me; our eyes meet.

"Oh." She stops mid-sentence, her mouth opening and then snapping shut, her eyes wide.

"Hey." I can't stop my smile, and when she smiles back, it only widens. Okay, there is some company I am up for. "Did no one teach you to not wander in random hallways?" I say teasingly.

"No. Apparently my instructor was a little deficient in those lessons," Tris replies quickly with a cheeky grin. I chuckle at her quick wit. Touché.

"Feeling witty, are we?" I grin, before my eyes drift to her damaged arm. I immediately feel guilty; I never saw her once yesterday, wrapped up in my own worries and thoughts in my apartment as I was. "How's the arm?"

"Okay," she replies. I take her arm to inspect the bandaged wound closely, enjoying the bonus of her soft skin against my fingers.

"Jane did a good job on this," I say, satisfied at the clean, tight bandages. There is clearly no fear of infection in the future. "The nurse," I elaborate when she looks confused. I raise my fingers to the bruise on her forehead. It is still an ugly purple.

"So you had to put up your head again and jump to someone's rescue," I say before I can stop myself.

"Do you realise how much you sound like Eric?" Tris says, crossing her arms in annoyance.

My eyes widen in horror. The last thing I want her to do is to find me similar to Eric. "No!"

"Yes, you do,' she says, laughing. Her laughter makes me relax a little; she mustn't be condemning me, then. "Maybe that's why I like you so much. You are not very nice, you know."

I stare at her for a moment, surprised. I am sure that is not something you use to complement your boyfriend. But her words are so true; I can't help laugh.

"Maybe that's why I like you too," I say jokingly. "You are not very nice either. I do hope you won't be using those words for Eric, though." I narrow my eyes playfully.

"Never!" Her eyes widen in horror. "God, he's just —" She makes an ugly face, making me laugh. Tris joins in, and we laugh together for some time. It takes away some of my worries from yesterday; just her company makes me feel better.

"But really," Tris says, her laughter subsiding. "Do you honestly want me to stand back when one of my fellow initiates is attacked? Would you have done that?"

"No, but that's different!" I protest. I had thought I had convinced her; now I see that it is clearly not so. "You don't need to get the attention of the leaders any more than absolutely necessary."

"Seriously!" she exclaims. "Would you rather have an initiate leaving because they lost one eye to someone's spite?"

Oh no, not again. How can I convince her to keep her head low at least until she is initiated? I open my mouth to argue further, but stop short as the rest of her statement sinks in.

"Wait... Lost an eye?" I frown. "How did you know that Peter was aiming for Edward's eye? The boy himself talked about an attack in general, and I don't think there was enough light for you to see which body part Peter was aiming for, if Edward himself didn't."

Tris pales. She opens her mouth to speak, her eyes uncertain, but a voice interrupts her.

"Tris!"

I look over her shoulder to see Uriah walking with a group of Dauntless-borns initiates.

"Oh, Uriah!" Tris looks at me. "I'll just go see what he wants."

"Tris, wait!" I try to stop her, but she is already hurrying away from me. I frown, lowering my hand in defeat. The look of relief on her face couldn't possibly have been just my imagination.

I watch as Tris and Uriah talk, unable to catch their conversation from this distance. Tris looks animated, delighted even, and I can't stop myself from scowling. What is going on?

Finally, Tris turns towards me, giving me an apologetic look, before beginning to walk away. I don't like this at all — the intimacy between the two of them, nor the way Tris evaded me yet again, but helpless, I raise a hand in farewell.

Too much information. That is a consistent point in the riddle that is Tris Prior. She seems to know too much about everything, more than she should. How? That is the question.


	8. First Fear

**Argh, I am so late...very sorry! Thank you all for all the kind reviews, and for favoriting and following this story. There's a happy news (for me) that I'd like to share... My graduation scores were declared, and I scored 94%. Could have been better, of course..but I'm okay with this. Thanks to you all for supporting me so constantly. Love you!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 8: First Fear**_

With Tris gone, I find myself essentially standing with two options about how to spend my time — to do nothing, and hence let myself inadvertently brood over what just happened, or do something worthwhile, going to the control room for instance. For obvious reasons, I select the second option. Busy mind — better keep it working on useful lines.

There are five operators in the control room when I enter. The sunlight falls through the glass walls, making a myriad of colors dance on the floor.

"Four," Gus nods from a corner. "Came to work extra time?"

"One of my initiates was attacked yesterday," I reply. "I'd like to see the footage if it is available."

Gus nods again. "The night supervisor was in charge here, but I am sure someone has saved the footage for investigation. Try your luck."

I sit down at a computer, logging into our data bank, which contains footages that have been pulled out of cycle. Normally they are programmed to be deleted automatically after twenty four hours, unless someone saves them. I scroll down the list of videos from the various cameras, listed according to the time of being captured. I sigh in relief when I see a footage captioned: 'T.D. — 20/7—1:30 a.m'. This should be it. I pull on the headphones and click on the file.

A grainy image from the dormitory surveillance camera flashes up on screen. The additional cover of darkness, given the time, only hinders me further. I squint at the screen, trying to make out shapes in the darkness.

There was no express necessity for me to view the footage of that night. Eric has been informed, and so has Max; Tris has been seen to and almost healed, and Edward has left Dauntless. I know who the initiates responsible for this are. And I also know that nothing will be done about the attack. It will be forgotten, buried with time. Just another 'accident', not so uncommon in Dauntless after all, I think bitterly. The main reason behind my efforts is verifying Tris' statement.

" _Would you rather have an initiate leaving because they lost one eye to someone's spite?"_

I need to check how she could possibly know about Peter's aim at Edward's eye, when Edward himself didn't. If the video reveals something... fine then, but if not, I just have found another confirmed piece to the puzzle which I have made no headway in solving. The puzzle called Tris Prior.

I can see practically nothing in the darkness of the dormitory, the sunlight filtering through the glass of the control room making my job even more difficult. At first I even hear nothing, but then faint, very faint murmurs reach my ears. From my idea of the placement of the initiates in the dorm and that of the exact position of the camera there, I can easily guess that the sounds are coming from Peter and Drew's beds. In the darkness, I see two figures moving. It is impossible to judge anything about their identity from the footage. I watch as they move stealthily across the dormitory and stop at a point. At the same time, I see a figure leap down from her bunk and charge towards them. Tris. The fight unfurls before my eyes, unclear, hazy images in the dark, detectable only by the jerky movements of the three and the grunts and yelps and smacks coming to me through the headphones. I wince in sympathy as Tris stumbles back with a sharp cry, probably punched.

"Hey, what —" Edward's voice enters the mix, awakened by the chaos before him. "Help!"

I am surprised no one else in the dormitory has woken up yet. They must be deep sleepers.

The smaller figure — Tris — leaps at a burlier one, probably Peter, tackling him to the ground. Someone runs toward the door. Must be Drew, escaping. Coward. The noises in the dormitory picks up — people beginning to wake.

Low voices reach me feebly — altercations between Peter and Tris, evidently — too indistinct for me to be able to make out the words.

"Let — go!" The voice, much higher and clearer than most boys, cuts through the blurry static in a scream. And then Tris screams.

Her screams are shrill and terrible — cries of sheer and intense pain — and it goes straight to my heart, until I am forced to put the headphones down. I can't hear her like this any longer.

I watch the now silent video, grimacing, as someone switches on the light of the dormitory, making the image clearer. _Very fast,_ I think sarcastically, unable to remove the scowl from my face. The lit dormitory reveals only Tris on the floor, screaming in pain, her left arm washed with blood, the silver end of a butter knife embedded in the flesh. So much blood. Too much blood. I shut down the footage in disgust, my last image being Edward's white face on his bed.

I gained nothing from this video, only a more vivid image of what happened last night, which I had no need to watch. The grainy image of Tris' face, contorted in pain, has been burnt on my mind. I shake my head as I head out of the control room.

I didn't see any evidence of Peter turning for Edward's eye. The only time he actually managed to raise his knife at Edward, the boy was already awake; he should have been able to tell me. There is no way Tris could have known. But she did. She stepped out to defend him just in time, almost as if she knew this attack was coming. But wouldn't she tell me if that were the case? I shake my head again, sitting down at a table in the dining hall for lunch. Too many secrets. What is the matter with that girl? What is she hiding?

I pile my plate with food but find that I am not hungry. The image of Tris, hurt and screaming, refuses to go away from my mind, robbing me of my appetite. I am still toying with my food, alone at the table, when Zeke and Shauna slump into the seats on either side of me.

"Man!" Zeke gasps, his hair thoroughly windswept and a grin so broad on his face that I wonder if his jaw isn't hurting, "You never told us just how spunky that Tris is!"

I blink at him. "That she is," I say slowly. "What happened?"

"We went zip lining," Zeke grins. "Uri had her tag along." My stomach gives a swooping sensation as soon as I hear 'zip lining'; among all Dauntless traditions, it is undoubtedly my least favorite. I can't ever understand what enjoyment one can get by jumping from the top of the Hancock building. The thought of Tris doing just that causes my stomach to turn uncomfortably, my anxiety fuelled all the more after watching the footage of the attack.

But with the worry, there's something else that comes hot at its heels — something acrid and bitter, clawing at me. Knowing that she went out with some other boy, with Uriah.

"Why?" My question comes before I can stop it, and much more harshly than intended. Zeke and Shauna stop short, coming down from their adrenaline high.

"He wanted to cheer her up," Shauna says carefully. "The attack on her must have been hard on her nerves, and then I heard that there was a spat between her and her friends — he thought it might be good for her to get an adrenaline rush."

I immediately feel guilty; _I_ am supposed to be her boyfriend, and I know none of this. I didn't even talk to her well since the attack, and I never noticed that she was unhappy. I am letting myself get lost in the quest to getting answers about her, too much to look at her as a person, as my girlfriend, to care for her. I silently promise to rectify the situation soon.

"How did she do?" I ask quietly, having no experience to compare to what she might have been through. I have firmly turned down every offer to go zip lining over the last two years, ever since I learnt what it involved.

"Incredible!" Zeke exclaims, the crazy smile making its way back onto his face. "I was expecting her to scream or cry, but she was perfect! Didn't bat an eyelid." He laughs. "You could have heard my baby brother. He sounded like a strangled cat! I wonder if he wet his pants on his way down."

"You got yourself a brave girl, Four," Shauna murmurs in my ear. "I had underestimated her."

"She's not 'my girl' —" I begin protesting softly, but she shakes her head.

"Don't play that card on me. I have eyes, you know. I can see the way you two look at each other, even if you aren't public yet. Oh, and she missed you there."

I look up in interest. "What — how —?"

"Interested?" Zeke chortles, slapping me on the back. "Got your eye on someone, lover boy?" I just roll my eyes and ignore him.

"She was looking a little wistful when we were heading out, and I asked her if it was because she was missing you, and she shook her head frantically and acted all confused, but the shade of red her face was..." Shauna chuckles. "It was too obvious."

At her words, I can't help the small smile that lifts my lips at the corners.

"You like?" Shauna asks with a wink. I just chuckle, shaking my head.

"Shut up."

But it's undeniable that her words upped my appetite. I look up from my food, only to have my eyes fixed on Tris, smiling at Will and Christina with her hand on top of theirs.

My smile widens as I tuck into my food. It seems that things just turned better for the both of us.

-o0o-

The mind is a strange thing. It gives us the strength to judge, to separate right from wrong — but it also allows the two to meld until you stand with a warped view of reality. It gives you strength, but it also makes you fear. This one organ, the master of all. Building us in to what we are, degrading us into monsters.

I check the old computer — a much more backdated version than those we use in the common room, to see if the program is devoid of bugs and ready to run. I know they are sitting outside, my initiates, about to face their fears, even though they have no idea of it. This second stage of initiation reminds me of my very first day in Dauntless, when I discovered my own fears, when, thanks to Amar, I became Four. I sat here this time last year too, watching the initiates face their worst fears under the serum. And till date, I don't know if I like this stage any better than the first. Some people might be excited at the prospect of looking into other's minds, of finding out the vulnerability in others, but not me, not really. Looking into the scenes that the initiates' own brains create for themselves is fascinating, but also dreadful in a manner I cannot explain. It feels like I am doing something I should not, that I am intruding upon something private. But either way, this baggage comes with being the initiation instructor, and so I have to accept it.

When I am ready, I walk out of the small testing room into the hallway where the initiates are waiting. I am immediately met with curious, anxious eyes, all full of questions. I ignore them, my eyes drifting just a second longer than others on Tris, and call out, "Al, come on."

The burly boy lumbers into the room after me. His forehead is already lined with a thin layer of sweat, which he wipes off with his big hand. He stops short as he sees the chair and the computer next to it. He gulps audibly.

"Is this — is this going to be another aptitude test?" he asks nervously. This is the question I get from everyone; most initiates find the aptitude tests straining on the nerves.

"Not really, no," I say, gesturing at him to sit. "This is different from the aptitude test. Here, you will have to face your fears." I pull out the injection, filled with the orange liquid — Dauntless' fear serum, and walk towards him. Al eyes the syringe fearfully, his big calf-like eyes wide. He shakily tilts his neck when I signal him to, and allows me to push the liquid into him, wincing a little when the needle breaks his skin.

"No wires?" he asks, his voice quivering.

"We use an advanced version of the simulation here," I say shortly. "So none for you. I'll be watching your simulation, so I need wires." I jerk my thumb at the old computer.

"O-okay."

"The serum will go into effect in sixty seconds," i explain, the words almost memorized from repeating them so many times. "In addition to containing the transmitter, it stimulates the amygdala, which is the part of the brain involved in processing negative emotions — like fear — and then induces a hallucination. The brain's electrical activity is then transmitted to our computer, which then translates your hallucination into a simulated image that I can see and monitor. I will then forward the recording to Dauntless administrators. You stay in the hallucination until you calm down — that is, lower your heart rate and control your breathing."

Al gives another jerky little nod, his breathing already fast. He wipes his palms against his trousers. Somehow, as I look at him, I find myself already losing hope for him. Whatever chance Al stood in the first round, in here, it doesn't seem like he'll have any.

I step away from him, hovering before the computer screen.

"Be brave," I say -— the famous Dauntless saying, and let my eyes drift to the screen as the serum takes over the initiate.

Al's hallucination leads him to a place unfamiliar to me, and yet familiar somehow. And then the white and black tiles answer me — Candor. I see him sitting on a bed, his expression confused. For seconds, nothing happens. And then it does.

I hear it before I see it. A dull roar, issuing from somewhere close. I watch as fear and uncertainty fills Al's eyes. And then the door is suddenly broken, burst and torn by brilliant tongues of flames. I am no stranger to fire, living in the faction which is itself symbolized by flames, but never have I seen a fire so terrible. It leaps forth, uncontrollable, towards Al. He screams, starts up and runs, but to no avail. Everywhere he goes, the flames seem to follow. Al's screams tear at my eardrums and the fire burns into my retina. The simulation goes on and on. Al can't do anything to stop it. Finally, all escapes are blocked, and I watch as Al screams and screams, looking for an escape but finding none, and then, as one, the tongues of flame engulf him.

Al sits up with a drawn out scream, clawing at his hands and face. Tears run down his face, his eyes bloodshot, face red. I check the timer before sending the file to the authorities. Thirty five minutes. Too long. I never realized when time passed.

I watch, uncomfortable, as Al hiccups and sobs, wiping messily at his face. It is some time before he seems to realize that I am present.

"I had a sister," he says through his sobs. "She was two years younger than me. Wh-when I was eight, there was a fire in our house. M-meg, she d-died. I — I almost did too. I just made it. I — I —"

I want to tell him that I don't want to hear it. That I don't want to share Al's pain, that I am a coward, and I just feel like running away in the other direction now. I keep my mouth shut, and only offer a curt nod. Al stumbles out of the chair and makes his way to the back door.

"The first time is the hardest," I try. "It gets better with time." Al just emits something between a moan and a cry at 'first time', and walking out, shuts the door behind him. I sit in my chair for a minute longer, composing myself, and then I walk out to call the next initiate, feeling like I aged several years in this last half hour.

The next simulations, thankfully, don't affect me so much, or maybe it's just me. I watch as Will slowly drowns in a large tank of acid (and it is honestly a terrible thing to watch), as Lynn stumbles through pitch darkness. Christina's first fear, it turns out, are moths, and I fight to suppress a smile as I watch her emerge from her simulation, still batting her hands around her face. Her face turns bright red when she looks at me.

"It was an entire swarm!" she says by way of explanation, her voice high. "Don't — don't laugh at me!"

"I'm not," I try to put it convincingly. It doesn't work, evidently, because Christina ends up being even more flustered and runs out of the room. I chuckle a little and continue with the tests.

Testing for the second stage is a long process. No one knows how long an initiate will take to overcome the hallucination. It may take ten minutes or so, as I have seen with Lynn and Peter, or longer, like Al. By the time I have moved up the list with only three candidates left, I feel like my skin has been rubbed raw with sandpaper. Every time I start the simulation, it feels wrong. Everyone is entitled to secrets. Being forced to open up your deepest fears, your past, your nightmares, to someone who is practically a stranger — it may be _Dauntless_ , but it isn't something I appreciate.

Taking a deep breath as I check the next name on my list, I step out.

She is sitting with Uriah and Marlene, laughing and blushing at something he has said. She looks beautiful with the rosiness on her cheeks, something I can notice even in the dark hallway. I beckon to her.

"Come on, Tris."

I watch as Uriah fist-bumps Tris and grins at her. Tris grins back, but as she walks towards me, her smile fades away to nervousness. I let her walk ahead of me to the door, but as she stares at the chair, she stops short, my chest bumping against her. Her body stiffens. I press her forward gently, pushing her into the chair. "Sit."

She does sit, but she doesn't relax. Her posture remains as stiff as ever, her eyes wide and wary.

As I prepare the program, I find my eyes drawn to her. She looks a little different today, the dark lines bordering her eyelids accentuating the sharp pale blue of her eyes. Makeup, I conclude.

"You look good," I say. A light blush steals across her face.

"Thanks," she replies with a shaky laugh. "Christina's handiwork."

Ah. Should have known. Tris never struck me as the type to make an effort to look better.

"I like you better without makeup, though," I blurt out. "Makes you look more real. You look —" I shake my head, trailing off uncertainly. _Just shut up already, Tobias. You're such an idiot_. I'm so pathetic. For the first time, I wish I had done better at the dates Zeke had set me up on, just to know how I should behave. I rub at the back of my neck. The tips of my ears feel hot.

Tris laughs. Her laughter causes my embarrassment to grow, but there is no derision in the sound. Instead, she sounds understanding. "Thank you. That's sweet of you to say."

Her words make me feel slightly better.

"To business, anyway." I pick up the syringe, walking over to her. Her eyes dart nervously at it. Surely she isn't afraid of syringes? Her fear appears much more deep set, as if from the anticipation of what is to come.

I brush my fingers against her skin, moving her hair away, relishing the feeling of her warm skin, and easily spotting the pale blue line of her vein, push the needle in. She holds very still.

"This test is about facing your fears, if I may use the term," I explain to her, as I have to everyone before her. "The serum will go into effect in sixty seconds. This simulation is different from the aptitude test. In addition to containing the transmitter, the serum stimulates the amygdala, which is the part of the brain involved in processing negative emotions — like fear —and then induces a hallucination. The brain's electrical activity is then transmitted to our computer, which then translates your hallucination into a simulated image that I can see and monitor. I will then forward the recording to Dauntless administrators. You stay in the hallucination until you calm down— that is, lower your heart rate and control your breathing." It's all practically a recitation; I am surprised my voice hasn't sunk into a monotone.

Tris nods, her breathing fast.

"You will do fine," I try to reassure her, enclosing her small hands in mine. They are cold and shaking. I plant my hands on either side of her head, staring into her wide blue eyes with their swirling waves of gray. Unable to help myself, I lean in and press a kiss to her forehead.

"Be brave, Tris," I say. "The first time is always the hardest." We stare into each other's eyes until something shifts in her ones, and I know that the simulation has begun. I attach the electrodes to my forehead and lose myself in the mind of Tris Prior.

The setting Tris invents is eerie and almost beautiful, the sky yellow-green, yellow grass stretching for miles in every direction. I let my eyes rove across the distance — just grass, everywhere. And Tris, a black blot in the middle of the field, half hidden in the waist-high grass. The long grass is perfectly still. If the air wasn't stagnant, I would say this was a dream, not a nightmare — but still air means only one thing to me, and that is a coming storm. Not rain, just storm. Rough, unforgiving wind. A burning, acrid smell floats in the air.

A shadow moves across the grass, and a large black bird lands on her shoulder, curling its talons into her shirt. I remember how I brushed my fingers just there, seconds ago, and my skin prickles.

Tris hits the black bird, hard, and then everything happens at once. Thunder rumbles; the sky darkens, not with storm clouds, but with birds, an impossibly huge swarm of them, moving in unison like many parts of the same mind. And she screams.

The sound of her scream is the worst sound in the world, desperate — she's desperate for help and I am desperate to help her, though I know what I'm seeing isn't real, I know it. The crows keep coming, relentless, surrounding her, burying her alive in dark feathers. She screams again — a wordless cry of help, and I can't help her and I don't want to watch this, I don't want to watch another second. But it is my duty to run the simulation, so I have to, and I watch with unnamed emotions crawling through me as the birds overpower her, pecking at her without a pause. She'll be converted to a pecked carcass. This isn't real, but at the moment, none of that matters. I have to watch her get hurt, hear her scream. I can't.

But then she shifts, her face visible among the crowd of pitch-black feathers — tear-streaked but resolute. For seconds she doesn't move, just screws her face in concentration. The crows continue their assault.

Then it happens. A loud rumbles issues from the sky. I look at it to see it turned into a shade of gray close to charcoal — dark and rumbling, only this time not because of crows, but thick, heavy storm clouds. Lightning flashes; the wind picks up. And it starts to rain.

The storm picks up fast, frightening the birds, and as lightning strikes one of them, they hasten in their escape. In no time at all, Tris is free, the crows flapping away in the distance. The rain lashes down on her face as she closes her eyes, her hair lifted in a wild hurricane around her. She looks strong. Powerful. I should feel relieved.

Instead, I feel as if someone punched me hard in the gut.

And then it's over. I detach the electrodes from my forehead, looking at the computer screen showing a smooth line — her heart rate, an indication that the simulation is over. I check the timer. It flashes the numbers — 00:01:57. One minute, fifty-seven seconds. _One minute, fifty-seven seconds._ An impossibility. And yet, here it is. My mouth dries up.

I look at Tris, still recovering from the simulation. She looks triumphant, if ever so slightly. But her expression slips right off her face when she locks her eyes with mine, faltering to one of uncertainty. I wonder what she sees in my face.

I check the corners of the room for cameras. There is one, just where I thought it would be, right across from us. One which I was careless enough to ignore when I passed compliments at her. But that is trivial; it doesn't matter. This does.

Tris looks like a trapped wild animal as she stares at me, eyes wide.

"Wh-what?" she demands. I can't answer her here. So I grab her arm and pull her out of the room. None too gently, but the sense of urgency working in me quells everything else.

"Do you know how long you were in there?" I ask, much more harshly than I meant to, my anxiety speaking.

She leans back against the wall, frowning in an almost-convincing act of puzzlement.

"I — I don't know..." she says slowly. "Half an hour?"

 _That's not the truth and you know it._

"One minute, fifty-seven seconds," I say. "You were in the hallucination for less than two minutes! How do you explain that?" I can. I know. I wish I was wrong.

Tris gasps, her eyes wide. Apparently, she hadn't expected to be _this_ good.

"Passing a simulation in less than two minutes is unheard of. Not only that, you manipulated the simulation!" I sigh, clutching at my hair in an attempt at calming myself. "You're Divergent." She nods. "Yes."

"Well, you need to work on hiding it then!" I snap. An apology nearly slips out of my mouth as she steps back from me, genuine fear in her eyes. If only she knew why I am so terrified. Terrified for her. "I'll delete the footage, but unless you want to wind up dead at the bottom of the chasm, I won't have you showing any of it during the simulations! Now, if you'll excuse me."

And I walk away from her.

I walk back to the simulation room, pulling the door shut behind me. It's easy to delete the footage—just a few keystrokes and it's done, the record clean. I double-check her file, making sure that every single bit of the information from the simulation is gone. I'll have to come up with a way to explain where the data from this session went. A good lie, one that Eric and Max will actually believe.

In a hurry, I take out my pocketknife and wedge it between the panels covering the motherboard of the computer, prying them apart. Then I go into the hallway, to the drinking fountain, and fill my mouth with water.

When I return to the simulation room, I spit some of the water into the gap between the panels. I put my knife away and wait.

A minute or so later, the screen goes dark. Dauntless headquarters is basically a leaky cave— water damage happens all the time. Anyone will be convinced.

I walk over to Uriah and Marlene who are the only ones waiting, and tell them that the test has been cancelled for the hour due to a technical error, and that I'll call them when things are fixed. Then I head away to Max and Eric.

I find them talking in front of Eric's apartment in the Pire. My immediate mental response is regret at not being able to spy at what they were talking about from the control room, as they stop talking as soon as they sense my presence.

"Four," Max raises his eyebrows. "Weren't you running the simulations?"

"I was," I say. "There's been a problem. Water leaked through the walls and damaged the computer. Motherboard, I think."

Max looks vexed. "Damn it!" he growls. "And the tests for today aren't over?"

"Two left."

Max purses his lips. "I'll have Jason see it," he says. "Any more damage?"

"It happened in the middle of a simulation. The data from that sim's gone."

Max sags, disappointment washing over his face. "Forget it, then. We'll make up for it tomorrow. Leave the remaining two initiates too." He looks at Eric. "Tell Jason he's needed at the testing room."

Eric nods, but something about his expression makes my skin prickle.

"It's a pity the information was lost," he says smoothly, but the insincerity is clear on his face. "Who was the initiate?"

I grit my teeth, not wanting to speak, but Max is looking askance at me too, so I say, "Tris."

"Hmm," Eric hums. "Poor girl. All that trouble for nothing." But the glint in his eyes sends a chill down my spine as he turns away.

I might have convinced Max, but Eric seems to be cleverer than I had expected.

-o0o-

Once in my apartment, I kick my shoes aside and literally crash on the bed, not even bothering to change or shower. I feel drained. The first day of the simulation tests is just as harrowing an experience to me as it is to the initiates, having to watch them screaming and flailing around again and again. But today, I am terrified. My eyes flutter in exhaustion as I stare up at the ceiling.

I dream of Eric standing before me.

"You hid it long enough, but your little charade's over, Four," he says, smirking. "You are Divergent. Arrest him!" And out of nowhere, several Dauntless guards restrain me. _Divergent. Faction Traitor. Spy_. The accusations fly in the air. I fight back with all my strength, finally managing to free myself, and run. I can hear the Dauntless guards chasing me. I run without a pause, suddenly realizing that I have neared the train tracks.

And there is someone lying there.

I jog up to the body.

Blonde hair splayed all around. The petite figure twisted at an awkward angle. A knife through her chest, eyes blank and staring — Tris.

I wake up with my ears ringing, from my own screams, I realize. The sheets are twisted and tangled around me, and my clothes are drenched in sweat. Trembling, I climb out of bed and head to the bathroom, peeling off my sweaty clothes on the way.

The shower cleans my body, but it doesn't do anything to clear my mind. My thoughts are dark as I reposition myself on the bed, part of me wanting to stay holed up alone in my apartment forever and keep all my problems outside, while another part is scared of what darkness I will succumb to in my solitude. Either way, I can't bring up the energy to move. My mind flashes again and again to Amar, of how he saved me but ended up dead by the train tracks. Tori's brother. So many people, all through these six years — dead, just because they are Divergent. And now Tris is on that list too. And with what she has been doing, she might as well be flashing 'Divergent' on her forehead in neon letters. If she cannot stop herself from manipulating the simulation, she will be caught in no time. Already, my little trick might have not fooled Eric. I lower my head, resting it in my hands. I have to save Tris. I can't possibly let her die. I don't know how I can save her, but I know I must. And that I'll do anything in my power to complete this mission.

Sick at heart and desperate to do something useful, I head over to the control room.

"Hey," Zeke says sleepily, leaning his head into his fist. "Want to take over for me? I practically need to tape my eyes open."

"Sorry," I say. "I just need to use a computer. You do know it's only nine o'clock, right?"

He yawns. "I get tired when I'm bored out of my mind. Shift's almost over, though."

I love the control room at night. With only three people working now, the room is silent except for the hum of computers. Through the windows I see only a sliver of the moon; everything else is dark. It's hard to find peace in the Dauntless compound, and this is the place where I find it most often.

Zeke turns back to his screen. I sit at a computer a few seats over from him, and angle the screen away from the room. I log in with the fake account the same way I had a few days ago. I need to go on with my search.

Looking at the imitation of Max's account, I quickly scroll past the benign folders to the spot upto where I had checked last time — the list of weapons. Next I come across a supply list. But not of clothes or food or other mundane supplies — weapons. And syringes. And a quick check tells me that the quantity is essentially equal to the current Dauntless population, minus a few in case of the syringes. Then there is something else. Something marked Serum D2.

I can imagine only one thing that would require the Dauntless to have so many weapons: an attack. My theory has just been confirmed. But on whom?

I check the control room again, my heartbeat pounding in my head. Zeke is playing a computer game that he wrote himself. The second control-room operator is slumped to one side, her eyes half-closed. The third is stirring his glass of water idly with his straw, staring out the windows. No one is paying attention to me.

I open more files. After a few wasted efforts, I find a map. It's marked mostly with letters and numbers, so at first I don't know what it's showing.

Then I open a map of the city on the Dauntless database to compare them, and sit back in my chair as I realize what streets Max's map is focusing on.

The Abnegation sector.

The attack will be against Abnegation.

It should have been obvious, of course. Who else would Max and Jeanine bother to attack? Max and Jeanine's vendetta is against Abnegation, and it always has been. I should have realized that when the Erudite released that story about my father, the monstrous husband and father. The only true thing they've written, as far as I can tell.

Zeke nudges my leg with his foot. "Shift's over. Bedtime?"

"No," I say. "I need a drink."

He perks up noticeably. It's not every night I decide I want to abandon my sterile, withdrawn existence for an evening of Dauntless indulgence.

"I'm your man," he says.

I close down the program, my account, everything. I try to leave the information about the Abnegation attack behind, too, until I can figure out what to do about it, but it chases me all the way into the elevator, through the lobby, and down the paths to the bottom of the Pit, along with the resident fear of Tris Prior's Divergence being detected. Tonight, I am plagued by too many fears, too many for me to remain Dauntless. Which means I must forget.

-o0o-

The party consisting of Zeke and me has swollen considerably by the time we gather our drinks from the bar. Zeke snagged Shauna on the way, and a few of her friends decided to tag along, a few of Zeke's as well. Most of the others I don't even know, but nobody questions anyone; the Dauntless rarely pass up a night of rowdy fun, especially if it involves alcohol.

I tilt the bottle, pouring the contents down my throat in a long gulp. It burns my throat and dulls my brain. All too soon, the first bottle is empty. I eagerly go for a second one, something I haven't done in a long time, and wouldn't do if I were to think logically, but tonight, I am past caring.

Soon second turns into third and third into fourth and fourth into God knows how many, until I am just a little unsteady on my feet, my mind filled with a glorious buzz of alcohol and all my worries shifted to the back of my mind, effectively forgotten. The crowd laughs and hoots, their cheers reverberating in my ears. We stand near the Chasm, the river roaring beneath. I don't know when we moved up here. It doesn't matter anyway. I am too close to the Chasm, my back bumping occasionally against the metal rail. I don't care. The crowd of Dauntless is loud, everyone laughing and talking all at once. It feels good, to let go of everything, to be reckless, to be eighteen again. Shauna leans into Zeke, and he presses a sloppy kiss to her right eyelid. It probably wasn't aimed there. I chuckle. Idiot. Alex tells some joke, flapping her head strangely, her face red and bulging. At other times, it wouldn't even be funny, but now everyone laughs, clutching their stomachs, and I guffaw too, the laughter so infectious that I have to clutch at the railing for balance, my unsteady feet not helping my cause. Wiping away my tears of laughter, I look around, and with an almost weird magnetism, my eyes instantly lock on her.

Tris.

At first as I think I am imagining it, her face brilliantly in focus as compared to the blurred faces. She is smiling at her friends, fooling around. They look happy. Al the sledgehammer is giving Christina a piggyback ride while Will and Tris watch. But my eyes are on my girlfriend, and my girlfriend only.

"Tris," I mumble, looking at her, testing the sound of her name on my tongue as if it were the first time. It sounds sweet. Melodious, almost.

"What you say?" someone in the crowd slurs. I ignore him, not paying attention to the ongoing conversation anyway.

"Tris!" I call out to her, overcome with the sudden desire to get close to her. I feel eyes on me. I couldn't care less.

I stride purposefully towards her, not looking anywhere else. She says something to Will and starts walking towards me. Her action makes a goofy grin creep up my face.

We meet at a sort of middle position. Up close, I can see that she looks... different. Her eyes stand out more, the blue-gray shade almost electric. Her hair hangs in a loose ponytail, strands framing her heart-shaped face. Her tight black dress hugs her figure at all the right places, with a dipping neckline which reveals the three ravens flying on her skin. She's sexy. Beautiful.

"Hey," I greet her, our faces close. "You look different. Amazing."

"Thank you?" She makes it sound like a question. "Er— so do you. Let's get away from here." She grabs me by the hand, and it sends shivers all through my body. "You shouldn't be here when you're —"

"Flirting with death," I say, laughing. _Flirting with you, more like._ "Drinking near the chasm. Probably not a good idea."

"No, it isn't," she says, panting a little from trying to move me. But I don't really want to; the roar of the river, her so close, the adrenaline and the endorphins and the alcoholic buzz — everything feels so right. I just want to push her against the railing and press bruising kisses to her beautiful pale skin. "That's why — we want to — get away from here."

"That's not what I want," I tell her conspiratorially, my lips close to her ear, so that if she were to turn her face a little, our lips would meet. People are watching. I don't care. "I want to kiss you."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Tris says with a little laugh. She shivers at our close proximity, and I feel it all the way to my groin. "People are watching. They aren't supposed to know."

But of course, she won't have any of it. Buzzkill. I know I warned her about keeping our relationship a secret, but now, I am regretting all that caution.

"Right." I grimace. "They aren't supposed to know. I don't like to hide you. I want to shout out to everyone that I like you —" Tris claps a hand over my mouth before I can get all of it out.

"Yes, I love you too and it's very nice of you, but you'll be regretting it next day if you do that." A part of me registers that she just said 'I love you', and I feel an immediate urge to either run around everywhere, screaming with joy, or kiss her till we both forget how to think. Instead, I laugh and remove her hand from my mouth. Her hand feels lovely. It's so soft.

"How about my apartment, then?" I offer with a wink. I would never even dream of flirting with her like this in the right state of mind, nor have the courage to, but the beer is doing amazing things to my confidence. My mind is already envisioning all the things I'd like to do with her if we were in my apartment right now, something I would never do if I were sober. "Very private. No interruptions."

Her face turns beet red. So adorable. She pushes me away, her hands on my chest. "Stop it, Four. You are drunk."

 _That I am, darling. Or on the way._

Instead, I shake my head. "Not Four. Don't call me Four."

Her eyes widen. She suddenly looks expectant. "What should I call you, then?" she asks softly.

 _My name. Tobias. You know it already. Why pretend?_

"But I think you already know my name," I say very quietly. "Don't you?"

Genuine fear and shock dawns on her face, and she stumbles away from me. "Wh-what? I —"

Her reaction jerks me somewhat out of my dulled state, enough to remember all the mystery surrounding her, and how I have not got any answers out of her.

"What else do you know about me, Tris?" I whisper. _Tell me, Tris, please. Who are you?_

But before she can answer, Zeke accosts us. I never noticed when we came up to my group of drunk friends.

"Look at you!" Zeke laughs. "Has number boy finally got himself a girl?" He places his hand on his heart. "I never thought I'd live to see this day. You have made daddy sooo proud!"

Tris blushes. "Zeke, please. We're not —"

"Aww, aren't they cute?" Shauna coos, leaning against Zeke. "Look at him, holding her hand!" Immediately, Tris pulls her hand away from mine, flustered. I glare at Shauna. No thanks to you for breaking the moment, miss.

"Shut it, you two," I say. "We —"

"Take care of him, won't you?" Tris interrupts me. "My friends are waiting, I need to go."

"Of course, trust us, darling!" Zeke slurs, leaning forward and catching me in a headlock. Jackass. "Nothing can happen while he's with us."

"Except an accidental breaking of your nose," I mutter, freeing myself. "I'd ask you to hang out with us," I tell Tris, "but you're not supposed to see me this way."

She laughs. "Trust me, I've seen enough." _Too true._ "Bye."

"See you later!" I smile at her, even though I don't want to let her go. She starts walking away, Shauna and Zeke teasing me mercilessly, but I only look at her. Al picks her up midway, lifting her on his back. Unable to help myself, I blow kisses at her as she grins and waves at me from over Al's back. And then Will and Christina meet the two, and she is gone.

I smile, leaning against the wall and finish the rest of my bottle.

That's my girl.


	9. Maelstrom

**Thank you to all my readers for the incredible support! Your reviews make my day!**

 **In 'Four', Tobias' meeting with his mother is supposed to take place on the day before the results of stage two are out, but for the sake of the plot, I put it beforehand... But well, things do change when second chances happen, right? That said, most of Tobias' meeting with Evelyn in this chapter is taken exactly as it is from V. Roth's writing, which I don't own.**

* * *

 ** _Chapter 9: Maelstrom_**

Through my two years in Dauntless, I recall getting drunk, properly drunk, only twice. That is, drunk enough to feel the effects of the alcohol in my veins the morning after ingesting it. One was the night before my fight with Eric during initiation — the night I went out to play Dare with Amar and a bunch of Dauntless, the night I tried alcohol for the first time. Two years later, I find myself in the same predicament, except with much more alcohol in my system — a splitting hangover at five in the morning. And both of the times, the question that I end up asking myself is the same — why did I ever try that stuff?

I have no idea just how much beer I had ingested last night, and I don't want to think about it. Staggering to the bathroom, I hold my head under the faucet, letting the water run full flow. My stomach lurches unpleasantly; the world doesn't quite feel a good place to be, what with its erratic spinning and too bright lights. My head dripping wet, I step fully clothed into the shower, dropping my articles of clothing one by one and letting the water cleanse me. My head hurts, my body hurts, everywhere. Well, at least I did not drink on an empty stomach. It would only have made everything worse.

I towel up and walk back to bed, flopping down unceremoniously. I know it is not becoming of me to slag off like this, but the lethargy that has possessed me refuses to slacken its grip. Maybe the headache will lessen if I take a nap. At least I don't have to go out to breakfast before another two hours at least. Which in itself is not entirely a good news; I could do with some coffee to wake me up right now.

Piece by piece, I let last night return to me. This is exactly why I don't drink too much — I hate losing my control and inhibition. I recall stumbling over to my apartment after Zeke and Shauna sneaked off to theirs — and I don't want to think about how they might have spent the rest of the night — after our drinking group disbanded, most of the people too drunk to walk straight. The events prior to that trickle back to me — my interaction with Tris right in front of her friends, and my face flames with mortification. I was such a fool. I collect hazy memories of me flirting with her — it was so inappropriate. True, we are dating, but I am not supposed to make my affection for her public, and I am not proud of how I acted yesterday. It was too risky. Too stupid. Too uncoordinated. I doubt if she had liked me that way either.

Other little things come back to me — things that I had said and done — so hazy in texture that I am not even sure they are memories or simply my mind creating them after a failed attempt at remembering — me inviting her to my apartment (and I am so glad she was sensible enough to say no; I would hate myself forever if I took advantage of her), holding her hand, asking her not to call me Four — I think? A wave of panic runs through me, knowing that I might have dropped my guard in that moment, and I try to remember if I had actually given out my real name. Not that it would really make a difference, for I think she knows it already, by some strange way. But I don't grasp any moment of me revealing my secrets, and my body sags in relief. It is not like I don't want her privy to my secrets, but I want to let her know at a suitable time, voluntarily, not blurt them out in a drunken moment. Tris' panicked face comes to my mind, hazy at the corners — I wonder why that was? I can't remember, and when my headache seems to spike at the effort, I give up.

After swallowing an aspirin followed by two glasses of very cold water, I manage to get a couple of hours' sleep, which has me waking up infinitely more refreshed. I walk into the dining hall for breakfast, finding Zeke and Shauna at our usual table. Zeke looks as fresh and cheerful as ever as he spoons up his breakfast cereal, which does not help to improve my mood much.

"Good morning," he mumbles through a mouthful of cornflakes.

"Why is it that you are perfectly chipper this morning?" I grumble.

"Maybe it's because he drinks like a fish, all the time," Shauna mutters from his other side. She doesn't look much better than how I feel.

"Remind me never to go out with you for a drink again," I say, picking up a slice of bread.

"Oh, come on, don't tell me you didn't enjoy it last night," Zeke says. "It even got you a girl."

"It didn't," I counter quickly.

"Of course it did," Zeke says with a broad grin. "I may have been crazy-ass drunk, but I saw you. You were practically all over her. And for all it's worth," he leans in conspiratorially, "I approve."

"Yeah, I will beg for your blessings first thing when I decide upon getting married," I say sarcastically, the base of my neck uncomfortably warm as Zeke's words remind me yet again of how idiotic I had been last night. "I'm leaving."

"Aw honey, I didn't mean to offend you," Zeke says in a terrible falsetto voice.

"Just shut up, Zeke," Shauna snaps, smacking him on the head with a spoon. "You can see he doesn't want to talk about it." I give Shauna a grateful smile before finishing my breakfast.

"Say hello to her from me!" Zeke calls as I leave the table. "And to my kid brother too!"

I ignore him, making my way to the simulation room for the second day of stage two.

-o0o-

I surface from the simulation with a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. In the chair, Uriah smiles.

"Well, that wasn't too bad," he says lightly, although his tone is a little shaky from the simulation.

I just look at him. This is easy for him. What gives the other initiates nightmares, he only took five minutes to clear. And all because of one reason — he is Divergent. He manipulated the simulation. It wasn't so prominent, not as much as Tris, which means that I won't have to delete his records, but enough for me to realize the truth.

As if it wasn't bad enough that my girlfriend is Divergent, my best friend's brother had to go ahead and be one too. Not that either of them can do anything to change what they are.

I make a show of getting him out of the chair and whisper, "Meet me in the hallway outside this room after dinner. We need to talk." Uriah's eyes widen at my urgent, warning tone, and he nods slightly before walking out. I couldn't talk to him right now; even though hardly anyone watches the footages of this room, there's no use taking risks. Anyone would be suspicious if they saw me taking strolls with select initiates right after simulation; it wouldn't be tough to detect the Divergent in the group.

When I step out to call Tris in, my muscles are tight with worry. It was bad enough to discover that Uriah is Divergent too; all my worries of last day that I drank away hammer away at me full force. If Tris doesn't learn how to stop manipulating a simulation, my job of protecting her will be so much tougher.

The Erudite released an article about the Abnegation yesterday. I am no stranger to the growing animosity between the two factions; with the Prior children's transfer, they have found new fodder for spreading lies about the Abnegation. This report directly attributes Tris' transfer to abuse by Andrew Prior. It even has direct quotations from Molly. My blood boils at the fact that an Erudite reporter got into Dauntless. It seems that the two factions have reached a firm... understanding. And though I try to reject the report as a bunch of lies, I am still afraid for her. The reports about Marcus spoke the truth, if only for once. Could it be that they are true this time too?

Tris' eyes seek mine uncertainly as I escort her into the simulation room. Having her so close to me amplifies my anxiety and mortification to a whole new level. I have no idea what to say to her — if I should apologize for my earlier behavior or offer her a subtle warning about today's simulation. I end up remaining silent as I prepare the syringe. The discomfort between us is too evident. I can't even look her in the eye.

"What's wrong?" Tris' quiet voice breaks the silence. "Did I — did I do something I shouldn't have?"

Her immediate assumption that she was the one in the wrongdoing finally moves me to speak. I sigh and shake my head, berating myself for not apologizing earlier. "It's not you," I say. "I was such a fool last night."

A small smile lifts the corners of her lips. "Hey, it's okay. No harm done," she consoles me, making me feel only slightly better. Then she does something I had not expected in any way — she kisses me — briefly and sweetly, pushing herself up in the chair. Only our lips touch. Pulling away, she smiles shyly at me. "You were sort of cute."

Her comment takes me off guard, although not more than her gesture. I don't recall anyone ever calling me cute. To associate that word with myself feels ridiculous, especially with my drunk self. I laugh a little, shaking my head. "I don't do cute." I bring the syringe to her neck, not wishing to waste any more time in chit-chat. "Are you ready?"

She nods jerkily, and I can see the amusement in her eyes bowing down to tension. I feel it too; both of us nervous about what is to come. The needle pricks her skin, and it is done.

Tris finds herself in a glass box, a dim blue light illuminating the dark surroundings. I watch as she places her palm on the solid surface, her hot breath misting over on the glass. On the other side, the initiates stare at her, all looking nonchalant, cruelly so, even. And then my simulation self is standing before her. It is strange, watching yourself in another's mind, knowing that it is a manifestation of yourself generated by the person themselves. Fear clutches at me for a second, and anticipation — why am I here? My simulation self smirks at Tris with the same nonchalance which is reflected on every face in the simulation, and points downwards. Tris looks down, and so do I. The box is filling with water.

It's not just a glass box. It's a tank.

Water fills quickly in the tank as Tris presses her palms forcefully against the glass. My heartbeat is fast, nearly as fast as hers — I know she has the ability to crack the glass if she so wishes, and I pray to God that she doesn't — it'll be a surefire way to exhibit her Divergence. But as the water reaches her neck, Tris shifts away from the wall, quickly opening her jacket and then diving down, clogs the water inlet with it. Even as the water stops flowing, she leaps towards the surface, her nose reaching out of the water. And then it is all over.

I detach the electrodes. I know that her timing is still unreasonably fast, but this will do. I let out a sigh of relief as she opens her eyes. She has conformed to my warning with remarkable dexterity. I nod at her appreciatively.

"That was a good tactic," I say. "Well done."

"Thanks," Tris replies. She looks a little shaky. Well, a drowning experience is no picnic, even though she was aware during the simulation.

I watch as she gets out of the chair and straightens up, about to walk out. But she doesn't immediately. She looks at me, her blue eyes bright and sharp, her gaze unwavering. I stare back at her, unable to turn my eyes away from her, standing right here, so radiant and yet unassuming. She seems to want to say something, but neither of us breaks the silence. I want to talk to her too — I want to tell her about what I found about the attack on Abnegation. I need to tell _someone_ , seek guidance to clear the turbulence of the thoughts within me, and my instinct pushes me towards her. This concerns her as much as it concerns me, and more — her family loves her, they will be victims of this attack. The Erudite report echoes in my head, and although I have all but dismissed them as lies, I can't help fear for her just a little — if she has suffered at the hands of her father anything like I have. I want to talk to her, I need her to open up to me. I need us to share. To trust. And yet whenever I try to advance in the direction, I seem to hit an invisible wall between us, formed by her secrets and my own. And even as we stand here facing each other, the wall stretches between us, sparking tension. I want us to talk, or at least I want to touch her, to hold her in my arms, a temptation which grows with every second as we look at each other. I wonder if she can feel it — my curiosity, my desire, my desperation and conflicts — and if the electricity that seems to be zipping in the room is contributed by her feelings too.

But then she breaks the moment, smiling a little and nodding, before practically running out of the room. The touch of pink at the base of neck as her blonde ponytail disappears around the room tells me that she wasn't immune to the silent exchange of emotions that we just had either. I drop down in my chair, heaving a sigh, and wonder just why this small girl affects me so much, when no one else ever has before. With her, I feel like a different man altogether — all the pieces of my facade threatening to break into pieces and crumble at her feet. I don't know whether this prospect should excite or terrify me. Maybe both.

-o0o-

I know I would find him here somewhere as I walk around the lonely patch of land around the train tracks. Over time, I have come to know exactly where I can find them, even away from the factionless sector. At least one of them is always there, watching me, watching everyone. The factions live in their comfort and superiority, but they have no idea about the sort of unity that exists between the individuals that they kicked out. Nobody understands the potential of the factionless sector — it consists of members of every faction. It is a mixture of every value which is etched on my back. They can be powerful allies, and formidable foes.

The sky is dark with just a pale streak of dying orange, the sun having set by the time the simulations ended. I feel like a weed in this wilderness of glass and steel as I stroll with alert eyes — uprooted from one place and set in another, but not the same, not quite belonging. I doubt if this sense of alienation will ever go away.

I find him between two abandoned works of metal and glass standing broken but proud over the older works of brick and mortar. He wears a gray shirt this time, and blue pants, big black Dauntless boots and a yellow jacket.

"Well, well, if it isn't the little prince Eaton again," he comments, grinning at me through unkempt whiskers and yellowing teeth. His eyes are bright and hungry, like a rat's. "Same service?"

I nod silently, handing him the folded piece of paper from my pocket. "Make sure she reads it within a couple of hours."

"You're in luck," the man says. I never bothered to get his name; he never seemed like the introduction type anyway. "I'll see her in half an hour. The urgent requirement, however..." His eyes glitter like flints, "...calls for some payment."

I take off my jacket and toss it to him. He greedily slips it over his tattered Amity one, offering me a crooked grin and an appreciative nod. At these moments, I feel pity for these people. Winter in the city can be harsh; the coming months won't be easy for them. On top of that, Abnegation hasn't been too helpful of late because of the Erudite bearing down on them. Not bothering to say anything more, I walk away to the faction I am supposed to call home.

-o0o-

I had expected my last action to bring me some solace. If anything, it wounds me up even tighter. Sometimes, I don't understand why I still talk to my mother, when I am yet to forgive her. At other times, I wonder why I am still here, sitting at the Dauntless dinner table and wearing black clothes. The answers to both questions are there in my mind as well, of course, effectively stopping my ideas from following the other paths in the respective matters. My mother, in spite of being similar to Marcus in her hunger for power, had been someone who actually agrees with my viewpoint that we can be more than any faction, who provides me advice and guidance regarding my decisions without being biased by faction loyalty and pride. I wonder if her thinking process could point towards the possibility of her being Divergent too. Maybe that's from where I got it. Sometimes I wonder if she is manipulating me too, in the small, rare things we have agreed on during our few meetings, and with how I have been longing to become factionless ever since I discovered she was alive, but in any case, her company definitely is the lesser of the evils. And as for why I can't leave Dauntless anymore — the answer lies in a single name — Tris Prior. That is all the answer I need. Honestly, I haven't even thought of defecting in a long time, ever since I saw her. Maybe it should terrify me how much of my emotional well-being I have set in the hand of one person in so short a time, but this fear, I decide, I want to live with.

Dinner is a quiet affair as the worries of the attack on Abnegation, Uriah and more importantly, Tris, continue to bother me. The background uncertainties about the Dauntless finding out about me being Divergent or a traitor is there too, of course, as well as so many other things. Shauna and Zeke notice my downtrodden mood, but thankfully deciding that I won't welcome questions, remain seemingly engrossed in their own small talk. When I finish my food, I walk away to the blind spot between the two cameras near the simulation room. Uriah is already waiting for me there.

"I guess you already know what this is about?" I ask him. Uriah looks dead serious, if a trifle uncertain and worried. He nods.

"It's my Divergence, right? I wasn't supposed to be aware during the simulation."

"Yes," I say. "Others are not aware that they are in a simulation, but you are. More importantly, you can manipulate the simulation."

Uriah bites his lip. "What do I do, then?"

"Don't manipulate it. If the leaders notice, they will catch you. Overcome it however you want, just don't manipulate it." I run a hand through my hair. "It won't be easy. The natural impulse of your brain will be to make things easy for you. You have to make a conscious effort not to do that. Or you are a dead man. Do you understand?"

He gulps, then nods. "Are you Divergent too, Four?"

I look at him steadily, my face a blank mask. "That is not important, nor is it your business."

Uriah nods, but there is a hint of a smile on his lips. "Thank you," he says.

"Any questions, ask me or Tori. But be careful with your mouth." I shift my eyes towards a camera in the distance to prove my point.

"Right." Uriah nods, then hesitates. "Uh, and Four? I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell Zeke. He — doesn't know about this yet." I simply nod, turning away. Uriah will tell Zeke when he is ready.

"Goodnight!" Uriah's voice floats at me from the opposite direction.

I could easily try to get some rest before I go out later in the night, but tension coils in every muscle and nerve of my body, and I know that I have only two places to go to let it out. Tonight, I choose testing the mind over body. My feet slowly begin to walk up the path leading towards the fear room.

The lights are off when I reach it, already having sneaked out a syringe and set the program to mine — it's easy, after having done it so many times. A sliver of moonlight falls through the glass walls in the otherwise dark space. It is all very quiet and calming — just what I like. But what I had not expected to see here was the petite figure leaning against the glass, her long blonde hair almost a pale, shimmering platinum in the sparse light. Amidst the darkness and the silence, she almost resembles a spirit, if one were to believe in them.

I walk over to her. She must be deep in thought; she does not notice my presence. When I place my hand on her shoulder, she screams loudly, swiveling around wildly and very nearly losing her balance. I grip her arms to steady her. Her expression smoothens as she recognizes me, but some of the panic lingers in her eyes.

"Oh my God, Four," she gasps, "Never do that again! You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Sorry," I say with a small chuckle. "I hadn't expected to see you here."

Tris grins sheepishly. "Yeah, I — just felt like exploring a bit."

Ah, curiosity. It's ever-present in her; it makes me wonder if she had an aptitude for Erudite.

"Curious as ever," I comment, smiling. "And now I'm here with you. Alone."

Saying it out loud makes the observation come to the forefront of my mind, and suddenly, it's all I can think about. How we are here, just the two of us, with the dark and the silence enveloping us, with no one to interrupt. The allure of her lips seems impossible to resist. I can't possibly control myself much longer.

"So it seems," Tris murmurs, a coy smile on her lips. Her blush is visible even in the dark, and the way her eyes drift towards my lips is all the encouragement I need. Our heads are close together without either of us making any conscious effort to move closer. I raise my hand and push back the soft silk of her hair, sensing a small shiver run through her body. My desire for her swamps everything else, every other thought, as my lips find hers. The entire world might disintegrate and I won't be any wiser, I am so lost in her. I gentle run my tongue over her bottom lip, begging for entrance, and she eagerly parts her lips, letting me explore her mouth. I wouldn't ever consider myself an expert in this sort of thing; indeed, this is all new to me, but as she throws her arms around me and pushes herself even closer to my body and her fingers tease my muscles over my shirt, this couldn't have felt more right. I love the way she feels against me, I love the way my hand presses against the small of her back, my palm almost spanning the entirety of her narrow waist, drawing shivers from her. I wouldn't like to be anywhere else, ever.

But then she pulls back slightly and I open my eyes, only to find her looking at the small black box in my hand — the one containing the syringe. I can practically hear the gears in her brain turning, and even though both of us are still breathing heavily, I feel the moment shatter, all the desire suddenly replaced by awkward tension. I am suddenly reminded of why I was here in the first place, and that I probably owe Tris an explanation of some sort.

"I had some work to do here," I say, rubbing my neck with my free hand — an awkward habit, and step away from her. For a second I think I see understanding instead of puzzlement cross her face, but it is dark; I must be mistaken.

Tris nods. "Fair enough. I — uh, need to get back to the dormitory anyway. My friends will be wondering where I am."

I almost stop her, beg her not to go. I know we both have things to do, but I don't want to let her go. My body is still reacting from the moment between us, and I want to prolong it, I want to hold her close to me, feel her slim, soft body against mine for longer. I almost give up all my secrets then and there, the request for her to stay and go through my fear landscape with me very nearly rolling off my tongue, but I stop myself in time. I am letting my desire think for me. I will show her sometime, but now cannot be that moment. I need to trust her, but she needs to trust me too, and I hesitate to be the first one to divulge the secrets, especially because she already seems to know more about me than she should. So I just nod, feeling the bitter taste of loss and regret everywhere.

"I'll see you later. Goodnight."

"Goodnight." She says it with a nod and a smile, perhaps tinged with a little sadness. But she doesn't make any attempt to move, so I look at her one last time and then retreat into the darkness, giving myself up to the fear room.

Going through my fear landscape only leaves me raw and hurt, like I have been rubbed everywhere with sandpaper for hours. My fears haven't changed yet, nor has it become any easier to navigate through them. My throat is dry from all the screaming and groaning, unshed tears dry at the corners of my eyes, and my back still feels the ghost of Marcus' belt over my old scars. My steps are slow and heavy as I emerge from the room, feeling defeated. I don't know why I face Marcus repeatedly here when I can't succeed, after I ran all the way here to escape him. I hate how he is still my fear, how he still haunts me even when he has no power over me anymore. I feel sick and disgusted at myself for not being able to get over him, or any other of my fears for that matter.

Perhaps my brain is still addled from all the kissing a few minutes ago, but I fancy I can smell the faint perfume of sweet apples in a sunlit orchard — of Tris, lingering at the doorstep as I shut the door of the fear room.

-o0o-

I was desperate. That is the excuse I give to myself about why I contacted my mother through that factionless man, why I am sitting in the ten-fifteen train, scarcely an hour after going through my fear landscape, waiting for her to find me somehow. I was desperate to share the news about Abnegation with someone, to have someone other than me know, who might tell me what I should do with this burden of information. Tris' face comes to my mind again and again as I argue with myself. I try to push her away.

I sit with my back against the wall, an arm curled around one of my knees, and watch the city pass. Night trains don't move as fast as day trains between stops. It's easier to observe how the buildings change as the train draws closer to the center of the city, how they grow taller but narrower, how pillars of glass stand next to smaller, older stone structures. Like one city layered on top of another on top of another.

Someone runs alongside the train when it reaches the north side of the city. I stand up, holding one of the railings along the wall, and Evelyn stumbles into the car wearing Amity boots, an Erudite dress, and a Dauntless jacket. Her hair is pulled back, making her already-severe face even harsher.

"Hello," she says.

"Hi," I say.

"This was surprisingly urgent," she comments, her feet perfectly steady in the swaying motion of the train. It's not only the Dauntless who travel by trains.

"I am busy these days," I say. "I didn't have much time to plan."

Her eyes look me up and down. "Every time I see you, you're bigger," she says. "I guess there's no point in worrying that you're eating well."

"Could say the same to you," I say, "but for different reasons."

I know she's not eating well. The lack of nutrition on her are evident, the reason for it being the same as that of her messenger.

I reach behind me and grab the backpack I brought with cans from the Dauntless storeroom.

"It's just bland soup and vegetables, but it's better than nothing," I say, offering it to her.

"Who says I need your help?" Evelyn says carefully. "I'm doing just fine, you know."

"Yeah, that's not for you," I say. "It's for all your skinny friends. If I were you, I wouldn't turn down food."

"I'm not," she says, taking the backpack. "I'm just not used to you caring. It's a little disarming."

"I'm familiar with the feeling," I say coldly. "How long was it before you checked in on my life? Seven years?"

Evelyn sighs. "If you asked me to come here just to start this argument again, I'm afraid I can't stay long."

"No," I say. "No, that's not why I asked you to come here."

I didn't want to contact her at all, but with her knowledge of the city, she seems to be the best option. It's a risk, but I'm not sure where else to turn.

"I've been keeping an eye on Max," I say. "You said the Erudite were involved with the Dauntless, and you were right. They're planning something together, Max and Jeanine and who knows who else."

I tell her what I saw on Max's computer, the supply lists and the maps. I tell her what I've observed about the Erudite's attitude toward Abnegation, the reports, how they're poisoning even Dauntless minds against our former faction.

When I finish, Evelyn doesn't look surprised, or even grave. In fact, I have no idea how to read her expression. She's quiet for a few seconds, and then she says, "Did you see any indication of when this might happen?"

"No," I say.

"How about numbers? How large a force do Dauntless and Erudite intend to use? Where do they intend to summon it from?"

"I don't know," I say, frustrated. "I don't really care, either. No matter how many recruits they get, they'll mow down the Abnegation in seconds. It's not like they're trained to defend themselves — not like they would even if they knew how, either."

"I knew something was going on," Evelyn says, furrowing her brow. "The lights are on at Erudite headquarters all the time now. Which means that they're not afraid of getting in trouble with the council leaders anymore, which . . . suggests something about their growing dissent."

"Okay," I say. "How do we warn them?"

"Warn who?"

"The Abnegation!" I say hotly. "How do we warn the Abnegation that they're going to be killed, how do we warn the Dauntless that their leaders are conspiring against the council, how—"

I pause. Evelyn is standing with her hands loose at her sides, her face relaxed and passive. The truth hits me like a batch of bricks.

"You already knew," I say slowly, struggling to process the fact. "You knew they were planning something like this, and have been for a while. You're waiting for it. Counting on it."

"I have no lingering affection for my former faction. I don't want them, or any faction, to continue to control this city and the people in it," Evelyn says. "If someone wants to take out my enemies for me, I'm going to let them."

"I can't believe you," I say. "They're not all Marcus, Evelyn. They're defenseless."

"You think they're so innocent," she says. "You don't know them. I know them, I've seen them for who they really are."

Her voice is low, throaty.

"How do you think your father managed to lie to you about me all those years? You think the other Abnegation leaders didn't help him, didn't perpetuate the lie? They knew I wasn't pregnant, that no one had called a doctor, that there was no body. But they still told you I was dead, didn't they?"

It hadn't occurred to me before. There was no body. No body, but still all the men and women sitting in my father's house on that awful morning and at the funeral the following evening played the game of pretend for me, and for the rest of the Abnegation community, saying even in their silence, No one would ever leave us. Who would want to?

I shouldn't be so surprised to find that a faction is full of liars, but I guess there are parts of me that are still naive, still like a child.

Not anymore.

"Think about it," Evelyn said. "Are those people — the kind of people who would tell a child that his mother was dead just to save face — are they the ones you want to help? Or do you want to help remove them from power?"

I thought I knew. Those innocent Abnegation, with their constant acts of service and their deferent head-bobbing, they needed to be saved.

But those liars, who forced me into grief, who left me alone with the man who caused me pain— should they be saved?

I can't look at her, can't answer her. I wait for the train to pass a platform, and then jump off without looking back.

I thought talking to her would help. Maybe it did. Now my thoughts do have a direction. Except, when I think of Tris Prior and her mother, I am not sure it's the right one.

-o0o-

The conversation with my mother haunts me all through the next day. It throbs in my brain and eardrums as if it were a earsplitting sound, muffling out everything. I had never really come to love my former faction, never possibly could, but deep down, despite my hatred for Marcus, despite letting myself being convinced by everything Evelyn says, I have thought of the rest of Abnegation as innocent people, and considered myself weak, cowardly, for betraying them.

Now it seems like no matter what I decide, I'll be betraying someone. If I warn the Abnegation about the attack plans I found on Max's computer, I'll be betraying Dauntless. If I don't warn them, I betray my former faction again, in a much greater way than I did before. I have no choice but to decide, and the thought of deciding makes me feel sick.

I go through the simulations mechanically, the only way I know to keep myself going. Uriah does a better job at hiding his Divergence today, but I am too lost to comment on it. My mind is a battlefield when Tris enters the room, and I want to tell her everything, open the dam of all the conflicts within me and lay them in front of her, but remain silent as my fingers push the syringe needle into her skin.

Tris' simulation plunges her into darkness. For a while, nothing happens. And then Christina appears in front of her. I frown as I stare at the hard set of the taller girl's lips and the accusatory glare which she throws at Tris.

"Christina?" Tris looks at her in confusion.

"You!" she says, pointing at Tris, "You killed him!"

 _Killed who?_ I watch in confusion as Tris voices my question.

Suddenly, the silence is broken by the sound of gunshots, and Will appears before her, a gun in hand. But he doesn't look himself; his eyes are blank and his face slack. His gun is aimed at Tris' head. Tris' heartbeat on the screen spikes sharply even as she screams in denial, her arm carrying a gun seemingly raising itself on its own accord. Tris shoots; I almost close my eyes as I see Will's head jerk back, blood spurting out. Flames light up the scene, spreading everywhere among gray houses. The Abnegation sector. I watch, my own heartbeat quickening in sympathy with Tris' as her father accuses her of betraying him and then jumping into the flames, followed by her mother getting shot. I don't know which is worse — this strange manifestation of my own nightmares of late playing out, or Tris' reaction. She screams and cries, more broken and helpless than ever, and I don't want to watch, not another second, I just want to pull her right out of the simulation and be done with it right now...

The ground shifts beneath her feet, and Tris is on a rooftop. Standing with the same blank faces as Will, are Marlene and Shauna's little brother, Hector. I frown; how come Tris even knows him?

But it's evident that she does, because panic and dismay abound in her expression.

"Marlene! Hector! Stop!"

"Your efforts are in vain, Tris," Marlene says expressionlessly. "You have failed. You can't change anything."

And they step right off the ledge, off the building.

It is all too easy to forget that this isn't real; it's all too easy to have my heart beat frantically and my fingers twitch to aid her as Tris screams helplessly, as she watches her friends fall, as she stumbles over the bloodied body of Tori, as she witnesses Uriah blasted away in an explosion. Horror runs in every vein of my body with the combination of the nightmare that plays before my eyes and Tris visibly falling apart, her mind her own punisher. I want to help her, somehow, in any way at all, but it takes all of my consciousness to not be sucked in the same vortex of horror and despair which has swallowed her.

Her screams are daggers, her sobs are lashings on my back. I can't stand this. I can't.

"Tris."

The voice seems to make an impact somewhere at the back of my neck, even as Tris looks up with some hope returning to her eyes. Because it's _my_ voice. My presence in this simulation can't be good — I'll be evidently hurting her in some way, either by dying, or worse.

My guess turns out to be accurate when I see the expression of my simulation self — harsh, unforgiving, a way I would never, ever look at Tris.

"You lied to me," my simulation self says, and it is so strange to hear — my own voice, the same way of speaking, but words I'd never use to her, or would I? "It's your fault everything is wrong." He shakes his head. "I can't believe you. You killed everyone."

"No!" I watch, my heart feeling like it is being ripped apart, slowly, as Tris tries to move towards my simulation self, only to have him step away. "Tobias, please, I didn't —"

 _Tobias_. She called me Tobias. She knows my name. There is no doubt in that respect now. But the shock and the questions that follow are wiped out instantly from my mind at the words uttered by my simulation self.

"I can't believe I ever liked you. We are done." It's my voice, it is _me_ , but not even at gunpoint would I say this to her, never, never...

"Tobias! Please!" Tris is broken; she doesn't look like the girl I have known. "Don't leave me! Please..." _Oh God, Tris, please. Get out of this simulation_... Did I do this to her? But why would she think of me leaving? I couldn't even think of it.

"Let him go," an unfamiliar voice whispers . "He is damaged."

"No! He isn't..." _Yes, yes I am_. "Stop it! Please! Please!" Her pleas are terrible, heart-wrenching. Why can't I just shut this thing down? The timer reads ten minutes. It is much less than standard time, but way longer than Tris' past record. _Come on, Tris!_

Corpses appear all around her. Accusations pierce the air. _Your fault. You failed! You killed him! We are done! Your fault! You can't do anything..._ They ring in my ears in an endless loop. I can only imagine what it is like for her.

But then she gets over it. Amidst all the cacophony, Tris shuts her eyes and sits very still. I watch as she slows down her breathing, maintains her heartbeat, slowly but steadily, and I am reminded of Eric in his fear landscape — controlling his body rather than his mind. And then it is over.

I watch as she sits up, her nails leaving dents in the Styrofoam padding in the armrest of her chair with how hard she had been grasping it, her face red and awash with tears. I know I need to help her, but my own mind is still locked in the horror of the simulation, unable to process anything, my hand half-raised. She looks at me for a long moment, and then runs out of the room with a broken sob.

It takes me everything I have not to run after her right away. But Lynn is still left, and I mechanically call her in and prepare the test.

"Something wrong?" Lynn isn't the most sensitive of persons; we are actually a bit similar with how unapproachable we both are, but her golden brown eyes are concerned as she looks at me. I wonder how bad I look.

I shrug and get done with my job as fast as possible.

It takes me some time to find Tris. Most Dauntless usually have one or more spots where they like to spend time alone, but I have no idea where she might be. I finally find her on the net, sobbing.

Carefully, I climb onto it, the material dipping under my weight. If she notices my presence, she doesn't react.

"Tris." I almost wince at how I sound exactly like my simulation self. Tris whirls around, panic in her eyes. It subsides when she sees me. But the tears follow.

I don't have to think; it comes naturally, and only for her. I shift closer to her, opening my arms to her, reminiscent of the first time I saw her cry, and she crawls into my embrace, her tears soaking my shirt. I let her cry, not speaking, running my fingers through her hair. Her simulation plagues my thoughts, a hundred questions rising along with the horror which refuses to go away. But I don't voice them; I don't talk, just comforting her as much as I can with my touch and my silence. The entire front of my shirt is drenched. I couldn't care less.

After how long I have no idea, when Tris' sobs seem to have subsided, I hold her at arm's length, wiping away the remaining tears from her cheeks.

"Come on," I offer quietly. "I think we could both do with a walk."

She doesn't protest, allowing me to pull her away. Together, we stride out of the Dauntless compound into the empty streets beyond. I wrap my arm around her shoulder, holding her close, wordlessly trying to convey that I will be there for her no matter what, and that she shouldn't fear about me leaving. Tris rests her head on my chest, making me feel warm against the cold, cutting wind. I have so many questions I can't count, and I think she realizes it too, but for now, I won't ask her. Because I need to forget and she needs to recover, to get over the horror that the simulation left in us. And since I am not eloquent and she is not ready, this silence is what we need for now. This healing, comforting silence, and each other's company.


	10. Endless Questions

**I'm plenty late, I am sorry. I had a small writer's block. Thank you for all your support. You are amazing, all of you! :)**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 10: Endless Questions**_

"Don't take it the wrong way, but you look awful."

Shauna sinks into the chair next to mine, setting her tray down. I look at her dully, my fork idly playing with my food. My appetite is completely gone. It doesn't really help your cause if every other person you see around appears dead or dying in flashes in your mind. I see Uriah and Marlene fooling around at a nearby table, Lynn with them. My stomach turns. I look away.

"You going to eat any of that?" Shauna says, nodding to my plate full of food.

I shrug. "Maybe."

I can tell she's about to ask what's wrong, so I introduce a new topic. "How's Lynn doing?"

"You would know better than I do," she says. "Getting to see her fears and all that."

I cut a piece from my hunk of meat and chew it.

"What's that like?" she asks cautiously, raising an eyebrow at me. "Seeing all their fears, I mean."

"Can't talk to you about her fears," I say. "You know that."

"Is that your rule, or Dauntless' rule?"

"Does it matter?"

Shauna sighs. "Sometimes I feel like I don't even know her, that's all." She pauses a little. "Is that what this is all about? Initiate's fear set you off?"

I shrug again. "Something like that."

We finish the rest of our meals without speaking. That's what I like most about Shauna: she doesn't feel the need to fill the empty spaces.

Once we are done eating, Shauna leaves to find Zeke, and I leave for my apartment. I itch to see Tris; she refused to have dinner and went straight for the dorms after our walk, and I am worried about how she might be. It was her fear after all, and if it affected me so much, I can only imagine how much it would have affected her. But I don't act on my impulse. If Tris and I are spotted together in the dormitory, well, needless to say, trouble will ensue.

Retreating to my apartment proves to be useless where the question of getting some rest is concerned. Because tonight, Tris Prior's nightmare robs _me_ of my sleep.

I know that it is no avail when even after an hour's attempt, I find myself wide awake. So much for trying. My mind is lost in a whirlwind of chaotic thoughts. And I had thought the discovery of the attack on Abnegation and my mother's words had been more than enough.

As the night darkens, I find myself walking down into the Pit towards the roaring noise of the chasm. I spot the hidden path in the wall without difficulty, my eyes practiced, and slowly climb down to the bottom, sitting down on a large flat rock. The river sprays up against the rocks, spitting its water onto my shoes. I look out at the foam hitting at the rocks, scenes from Tris' fear dancing before my eyes.

The way people's minds give image to their fears is an interesting subject. Some fears are expressed directly in the simulation — like my fear of heights or closed spaces. Others can be expressed symbolically, the simulations required to be interpreted to figure out the fear underneath, the first two of Tris' fears for instance, among others. If I were to make an educated guess, I'd think that those fears have something to do with powerlessness, loss of control. In both the simulations, the situation was so provided that Tris wouldn't be able to gain control of what she was being subjected to, until she accepted her helplessness and acted out accordingly. Her latest fear horrifies me most, but it also intrigues me to an equal extent. Unlike the others, this simulation somehow feels direct to me, strangely, a head-on collision of Tris and her fear. There seemed to be a strange bluntness to it, the scenes too sharp and too real to be created by imagination alone. Either that, or Tris' imagination is far too good for her to handle. As much as I want to forget the scenes from that simulation, banish them from my mind forever, I let myself succumb to the onslaught of horrifying images in an attempt to find meaning out of them. In these two years, I have been through several simulations, several fears, but nothing like this. It disturbs me that there should be some hidden demon inside Tris which caused her to have a vision like this. It serves as another painful reminder of how little I know about the girl I am dating.

Tris' fear could, by some vague way, be labeled as that of losing her loved ones, but it doesn't quite seem so. Her simulation contained an almost evenly balanced mixture of deaths and accusations. I start my analysis from the beginning. Christina was the first one to appear; her being Tris' best friend, it would appear more natural for her to die, but she accused Tris of killing Will. Why Will, specifically? Could it be something like my fear of killing an innocent – could Tris be afraid of betraying her best friend? No satisfying answer occurs to me. Will's expression in the simulation bothers me. It wasn't terrified and he wasn't helpless, which again would have been more suitable. He was about to kill Tris himself, and his expression… blank. It was like he was possessed, sleepwalking. The same expression had been on Marlene and Hector's faces before they jumped off the roof. The image makes me a little nauseous.

The choice of people meeting their death was also peculiar. Tris' parents dying was understandable – of course she would be afraid of losing them. But Marlene, Tori, Uriah and Hector? Uriah, Marlene I may consider – they seem to have bonded with Tris already, and even Tori – they may be close, but how Hector? I don't even recall him meeting Tris, let alone leaving an impression on her; most families of Dauntless live away from the initiates, like all other factions; the initiates are not really supposed to interact with them until they are full members. No answer to my questions offers itself to me. The simulation was too strange, complex and multilayered in itself.

I sigh, running my roughened hand over my face. I don't think I felt so confused and intrigued by someone's fear simulation, ever, nor has any simulation been so troubling. The very thought of Tris going through something like that makes so many new questions rise inside me. What could her secrets be, to cause her to fear something like this? What _is_ this fear all about? Who _is_ Tris Prior?

I think of the part of the simulation where I accused her of lying to me and blamed her for all the death and destruction. Could there be some legitimate reason behind it? Could it be that she lied to me that day with her promise, and the secrets that she harbors really run that deep, that bad? Another thing that intrigues me is her vision of Abnegation being destroyed. I know that it being her former faction, she may still have her loyalty to them, but somehow that vision seems to resonate with my discovery of the upcoming attack on that faction. Coincidence? I don't know.

I try to go through everything, hunting for a common link between all the random scenes of chaos and destruction. What did everyone tell Tris? _Failing_. That is what I come up with. Her mother had told her that there was nothing she could do. Marlene had said that her efforts are in vain. The voices echoing in the air had said it. _You have failed_. Failed what? What could a young transfer to Dauntless be afraid of failing at, other than the tests of Dauntless initiation? Because that certainly didn't seem so. What is Tris afraid of failing? Is she on a mission? How? The questions never end. The more I think, the larger the number of questions plaguing me becomes, until I am not even sure who the girl I like really is. What have I got myself into? What is Tris' secret? With every new thing that I discover about her, her identity of a meek girl from Abnegation seems to dissolve further. But who could she be, if not what she makes herself look like? Thoughts like _spy, traitor_ , abruptly pop into my head, but I push them aside; whatever Tris is, I am confident that she is a good person. And as for my feelings for her, I have accepted them, and there is no way I can just wipe them out. But I cannot deny the fact that her elusive tendencies bother me. When will she trust me? Is there any point at all of us trying to accept each other when the weight of such massive secrets separate us? Part of me wants to go and demand answers from her right now, or at least an honest admission of her true identity and intentions, but when I finally rise from my seat on the rock, it is simply to return to my apartment to try for the rest I really need but cannot get.

My concern for Tris drags me to the transfers' dormitory, which lies swamped in darkness. I stand at the door, staring at the vague forms of initiates in their bunks. The silence is occasionally broken by the creaking of the bunks with someone shifting or a stray whimper carrying across from someone having a nightmare. These times are the worst in the initiation process; apart from dealing with the challenge of staying in the top ten, the initiates are vulnerable to the images that their fears have found. Nightmares are common. I should leave. But against my better judgment, I find myself navigating through the beds until I am standing right in front of Tris'. In the bunk across of her, Al moans pitiably and shifts every few seconds.

Tris appears asleep, but there is a downward curve to her lips and her brows twitch. I am not sure if she's having a nightmare; I hope not. For moments I stand in front of her, conflicted by the endless questions that hit away at me. I should leave. But looking at her small figure curled up under the sheets, I cannot help myself from pressing a kiss to her forehead and smoothening the lines marring her brow with a careful touch of my fingertips, nor can I stop myself from standing and watching her from the door for a long time.

I am stupid. There is no other way to say it. I'm stupid for caring so much about this girl I know so little about; I am stupid for handing her the power to break me. But I can't help it. I just can't, and that's how it is.

-o0o-

Will's fear of that day leaves both of us terrified and breathless. Acrophobia isn't too uncommon a fear, and finding myself in a situation akin to one of the scenes from my own fear landscape is something I find even less welcome than overseeing the initiates' fear in general. I quickly adjust my face into the expressionless mask to hide how much the simulation affected me even as Will recovers. He doesn't meet my eyes as he leaves. It's unfortunate, how the current method to achieve 'fearlessness' has made them — ashamed to show their weaknesses, like having them is a crime.

I don't really know what I am feeling, or what I am supposed to feel, when it's Tris up next for the simulation. I worry if her simulation today will be as bad as yesterday's. What about her secrets? How is she dealing with everything? Part of me seems anxious, convinced that she would somehow be a different person altogether as I walk out to call her in. But the small figure sitting hunched in the chair, her blonde hair in a high ponytail, is just the same. I smile at her as she walks towards me, her palms rubbing repeatedly against the material of her trousers. But the smile slips right off my face when she is close enough for me to observe her properly. She looks terrible, to be honest. The fire is still there, dormant, in her striking blue-gray eyes, but she looks broken, haunted. There are dark circles prominent under her eyes, and her face is too pale. Her lips seem to be set in a permanently downward curve; they twitch ever so slightly in a failed attempt at smiling as her eyes lock with mine. She is nervous. Her entire demeanor screams out her fear, her vulnerability.

I almost feel like letting her go. It is evident that the last fear had a lasting effect on her. But this is my duty; I can't let her slack off.

I place my hand on the small of her back, and swallow in shock as I feel the small tremors running down her spine. She is trembling. "Come on in," I say nevertheless with helpless cruelty, and give her a little push.

Tris' advance towards the chair is at an almost snail-like pace, as if she is trying to slow down every step to buy herself more time away from the simulation. I don't really blame her, but I can't afford to have her succumb to weakness. Not when I know that she is capable of so much.

"Hey," I say sternly, my eyes narrowing at her, "It's only a simulation."

Her lips purse a little, vexed at my dismissal of her fear. Then defeat clouds over her face. "I know," she sighs. "I don't want to go through it again."

I don't, either, but I know that neither of us can get out of this.

"Be brave, Tris." The Dauntless words which I had once said to build her strength and encourage her, now come out sounding more as a reproach. She doesn't deserve this, but I can't help it.

Her eyes flash in momentary anger, or so I assume, and she laughs darkly. "I don't think I'm very brave," she says, her tone dissatisfied. "I don't feel it, anyway."

I chuckle at her words. I find it strange how often she doubts her abilities, how often she questions her courage. I shake my head.

"You're an idiot if you don't think you are brave." I press my hand to her shoulder, hoping to reassure her. "You're the girl who can take on Peter, and you can't face a hallucination?"

Tris blushes a little but shakes her head.

"Whatever," she says dismissively, then looks down, hesitating. "I had nightmares last night," she says after a moment of silence.

Her admission is not surprising, but that doesn't prevent a knot from developing in my stomach. Tris had seemed okay when I visited her in the dormitory. It must have happened later in the night.

"I would be surprised if you didn't, after what that simulation showed," I say quietly. Even I had nightmares; it would be absurd to expect anything else from her. I run my fingers over her forehead through her hair, hoping to soothe her strained nerves. "But you must remember that none of it is real."

"Yes," Tris says with a sigh, "I know." There seems to be a 'but' to her statement, but she doesn't say anything else.

"I guess you must have a few questions about yesterday," she says tentatively after a small pause, finally bringing up the elephant in the room.

I want to laugh. _Few?_ Not quite. "Few would be a huge understatement," I say dryly. "And not just about yesterday. The questions have piled into a veritable mountain, if I may use the term."

"Yeah." Tris laughs nervously. "Um. So..." She seems more nervous than ever, but a different kind of nervous — not afraid, really, but tense, uncertain. Like her answers would break us, and she doesn't know how to begin.

"I want nothing more than to ask you whatever I need to know now," I say. "I have been dying to know what secret you are guarding. But are you ready, Tris?" I want to be decent about this, to have her give up her secrets willingly, and not just pry them from her, like I have always worried about happening to mine. At that moment, looking into her wide, expressive eyes, I will her to trust me, silently beg of her to let me in. And at that moment, I foolishly believe that she will.

But of course she doesn't. Her lips curve downwards and she looks away. The simple silent gesture acts like a bucket of ice cold water dumped over my head. Of course she doesn't trust me. Why was I even expecting it of her?

Feeling the chill of disgust crawl through me, directed at whom I am not sure, I walk away from her.

"Thought so. Let's get to business, then. It won't do good to waste time. I do have other initiates waiting outside." I can hear the bitterness in my voice; it's all I feel.

I expect Tris to retort in some way; I even go as far as to hope that my cruel jab would cause her to lash out and admit the truth, but she remains silent. Not looking at her anywhere other the spot where I am supposed to inject her, I push the needle into her skin.

In the simulation, Tris stands in combat stance, her legs slightly parted and a gun in her hands.

"Beatrice."

She looks up at the voice, and with her point of vision, I see them too — three individuals standing in front of her in Abnegation gray. From our encounter on Visiting Day, I have no difficulty in recognizing Natalie Prior. Beside her, Andrew Prior's face matches with the vague memories of him from my childhood and the control room. And seeing his presence in this simulation does away with what little worries I had about Tris being abused; if Mr. Prior has his position alongside Natalie in this simulation, there is no question that Tris loves him genuinely. Their relationship is a healthy one, if a bit strained because of her transfer. The previous day's simulation indicated that, too.

The third individual, the young man with the softly curling hair and Natalie's green eyes, can only be Tris' brother, Caleb.

It doesn't take me any effort to figure out this fear — the simultaneous presence of her family and the gun in her hand speak for it — it's being forced to kill her family. It's not the first time I am facing a manifestation of this fear, but only the most caring ones have it.

"Shoot," a disembodied voice says from somewhere around her. It is emotionless, mechanical, and somehow familiar — it's Jeanine's, I realize with a shiver of cold running down my body. Tris' mind couldn't have formed a more real threat.

At the same time, the barrel of a gun presses against Tris' temple. I feel my jaw clench almost unconsciously.

But Tris doesn't fire. Her jaw hardens, and even though her heart rate on the monitor has spiked, she holds her head high. "No," she says harshly. I steal a glance at the real Tris, sitting in the chair. Her eyes are wide but fierce and flashing; her nails dig into the armrest.

"You have to," the voice says. "Or you'll be killed."

"I said no," Tris insists.

"You have ten seconds to decide." I gulp as the gun against her head digs harder into her skin. I don't want to watch this. I know this is sick, but I want her to just shoot someone from the three and be done with it. Seeing her at gunpoint, unable to help her in any way, even though this isn't real — I hate this, I hate myself, I hate the system for it.

The countdown begins.

"Ten."

Tris doesn't move. Natalie looks at her daughter with a sad smile.

"You can do this, Beatrice," she says gently. "Don't stop yourself. None of us will blame you. Your life comes first to us."

Tris refuses to act, shaking her head in firm denial.

"Nine. Eight."

"It's okay, Beatrice," Caleb says in a quiet voice. "Just shoot me. You can save Mom and Dad. I'm sorry we argued. I love you."

"Shut up!" Tris snarls, her voice full of desperate aggression. On the screen, her heart rate climbs steadily. The timer ticks away. "Don't — don't —"

"Seven."

Nothing. Tris stands motionless, like she has been turned to stone.

"So you won't comply," the voice says. "Very well, then."

I blink. This is unusual. I would expect them to go down with the countdown and shoot her, unless there is someone else, the loss of whom could cause her to hurt more. I stare at the screen in anticipation. What could be higher in importance for Tris than her family, or who?

Someone grabs hold of Tris and turns her roughly around. For a second there is nothing. And then an audible gasp escapes my lips.

It's _me_.

Tris' eyes widen in terror and her heart rate skyrockets, as does her breathing.

"Tris," my simulation self says, smiling a sad smile which looks strange, almost foreign to me. He holds a knife in his hand.

Tris starts trembling.

"What are you doing?" she says, her voice high and brittle. "Tobias — stop —"

Again. She called me by my real name again. But I hardly bother to register that or bring myself to care; I am still trying to wrap my head around the idea that I matter so much to Tris, enough to be in her fear simulation, enough to be there as an exchange for her family. I can't believe it. I simply can't.

"This is for you," my simulation self says softly. "I'm doing this for you." And he plunges the knife into his gut.

It is a strange thing to watch yourself die through someone else's eyes. I don't know what I feel, or even if I do at all. This is the first time something like this is happening; I was never important enough to anyone to feature in their fear, let alone that fear being my death. I never thought I would be.

"NO!" Tris' voice hardly sounds like herself, the scream is so warped and high-pitched. It tears at my heart, and I want to reach out to her somehow, remind her that none of this is real, that I am okay. "Stop! Please! I love you, Tobias, please don't! Don't die on me!"

My mind suddenly blanks out at her words. Three words. Three impossible words. And yet she said it. _I_ _love you._ I couldn't have imagined it, could I? But then, how is it possible...?

On the screen, my simulation self crumples to the floor, blood gushing from the wound. Tris sobs helplessly, held at gunpoint. In the chair, there are tears running down Tris' cheeks like tiny rivers as she stares sightlessly into the distance. My entire being hurts for her, and yet I feel strangely detached from everything, my brain fuzzy with the impact of Tris' desperate confession. I wouldn't think it can be possible to be in such a state had I not been experiencing it firsthand.

"He can still be saved," the emotionless voice speaks again, breaking me out of my daze. "If you shoot your family, he'll live. You have five seconds."

Tris sobs out, a choked little sound. I want to tell her not to give in. Even in a simulation, I am not worth being saved in exchange of her family.

"Five."

Tris stands very still, tears running ceaselessly down her face.

"Four."

The countdown goes on. My simulation self is losing blood steadily. I don't feel anything about it, only pain for Tris. What will she do now?

At 'two', Tris moves suddenly. She raises her right hand which holds the gun. I hold my breath.

But instead of pointing it elsewhere, she presses the gun to her own head.

"You die, I die too," she whispers, looking at my simulation self. And before I can even think anything, she pulls the trigger.

The simulation is over.

I watch as Tris sits up in her chair, her face tear-streaked, but I don't know how to react. My mind is overwhelmed by what she just did. She sacrificed herself. For _me_. She confessed that she loved me. My death scares her enough to feature in a simulation. My emotions are all over the place, so intense that my brain seems like it might have a meltdown, but I just sit in my chair, staring dumbly at Tris.

She stares at me for a long time, her emotions unreadable but looking like she might shatter any moment. And then she gets unsteadily to her feet and makes her way for the door.

Her movement finally kicks my mind into action. Before I know it, I have wrapped my arms around her waist and am pushing her against the wall. My lips collide with hers, and in that gesture, I try to provide an outlet to my emotions, to tell her how much this means to me. Tris freezes against me for a second, and then slowly begins to kiss me back. I kiss her as long as my breath would allow me, forgetting caution, forgetting everything, my only sensation being her lips on mine, and my only feelings – gratitude and an intense astonishment at how this incredible, amazing girl came to care for me.

I stand staring at her, drinking her in and marveling her in silence, when she reaches up and wipes a tear from my eye. I look at her, surprised; I hadn't realized I was crying.

"You shouldn't have," I whisper.

"Shouldn't have what?" Tris asks, confused.

"Shot yourself for me." I shake my head. "I don't deserve that."

"Yes, you do," she says insistently, wrapping her arms around me tightly. Her head rests against my chest. "You deserve that, and much, much more."

I sigh, pulling her closer, feeling as if I could never be close enough. "Oh, Tris." We hold each other like that for some time, and I feel like I'd never want to move again. Then her words from the simulation come to me again, and I pull back to look at her.

"In the sim, you said you love me."

Tris looks down. It makes me afraid that she hadn't really meant it, that her emotions were affected by the simulation. It wouldn't be unusual anyway; it's too soon to love me, if I can be loved at all.

But then she makes eye contact with me. "Yes," she says. "It's the truth. I love you."

I look at her, stunned. This is too good to be true. "But — How can you possibly love me?" I question incredulously. "We've known each other for, what, a couple of weeks, barely. It's too soon to say."

"Not for me, no," she says firmly, sincerely.

"You say you love me, and yet you don't trust me enough to tell me what you are hiding."

Tris licks her lips nervously. "It isn't about trust, honest. I — I'll tell you. Soon. Please trust me."

Her promise doesn't quite satisfy me, but I let it go for now. Her confession hardly leaves any scope for dissatisfaction. Feeling a little lightheaded, I press my lips to hers once again. I take my time to slowly pour my emotions into it, and her soft lips are incredibly sweet moving in sync with mine, and I can't help my smile when we pull away.

"Thank you," I say. Tris laughs a little, shaking her head.

"Don't. I don't deserve thanks for loving someone who deserves to be loved. And I'd better go." She smiles mischievously. "You do have other initiates waiting outside."

I laugh at how she throws my words back at me. "I could give them a holiday," I say playfully. "They'd only be too happy. But you are right." I admit defeat, promising myself time with her later. "I'll see you later."

"Bye." She kisses me again and then leaves, leaving me with a stupid smile on my face.

-o0o-

I still feel drunk with joy when I sit down to dinner. My eyes catch Tris' with that same magnetism that strangely seems to exist between us, and throwing caution to the winds, I flash an open smile at her. I simply can't control myself. My smile remains intact as I run my knife through the piece of meat on my plate, Tris' words repeating themselves over and over in my head.

" _You deserve that, and much, much more."_

" _Yes. It's the truth. I love you."_

" _I don't deserve thanks for loving someone who deserves to be loved."_

" _You die, I die too."_

It's incredible. Unbelievable. I have no idea why or how Tris can love me, love someone so broken and damaged. Maybe she wouldn't if she knew the entire truth about me. But at the moment, I can't bring myself to care, because she does love me, she said so, and while the words themselves appear surreal directed to me, the truth and sincerity in her voice is still flowing through me like honey, slow and warm and sweet. At that moment, all doubts and misgivings are gone; I am living in the moment, in the indescribable joy her words left me with and the sweet smile which she offered to me and only me from across the room.

"What's with the smile?" Zeke asks.

I look at him distractedly, trying to straighten my face into my usual mask. "Hmm?"

"Did you get laid?"

I choke on the piece of meat I was chewing. Shauna thumps me on the back and offers me a glass of water.

"Really Zeke?" she scowls without malice at her boyfriend.

"What?" Zeke shrugs nonchalantly. "That loopy grin he is wearing can easily be because of post-coital bliss, seeing as he never is like this. About time too."

I grimace, my face bright red as I hastily try to banish images of Tris in my bedroom with no clothing separating us. I'll be needing a cold shower if I'm not careful.

"No, I did not get laid," I growl at Zeke. "And could you please not talk about that while I am eating?"

Zeke only laughs. "What is it, then?"

"Can't I even smile for a change?" I mutter.

"Not without reason, bro. You hardly cracked a proper smile even once in these years. And now you are grinning so hard your jaw could fall off."

I just shake my head and beat a hasty retreat after dinner, ignoring Zeke's calls of 'pansycake'. Honestly, Shauna handles gossip way better than Zeke does, that idiot.

-o0o-

I usually am not appointed the night shift, even though I frequently spend my time at the control room at night just to savor the peace and quiet which is so hard to find in Dauntless. But one of the night operators called sick today, so Gus wanted me to fill in for him. I lean back in my chair in the dark control room, illuminated by the thin crescent moon peeking from the space between two buildings and the light of the several computer screens covering the walls. Tonight, I don't bother trying to hunt any more of Max's plans; I have learnt enough, and there is only so much I can handle of such crucial information, despite possessing which I don't seem to have the power to do anything.

I idly watch the screen before me, showing fast moving pictures of various parts of the city as it lies in sleep, and various part of my own faction — the blue lamps burning in the Pit, the lonely drinking fountain, the empty hallways. The sleepiness that cradles Dauntless is almost infectious, and even my eyes begin to invite sleep. My eyelids flutter down a couple of times, and my chin almost slips off its support on my hand. It is only a sudden movement on the screen that jerks me up from my sleep-like state.

The camera footage currently showing on the screen is from somewhere near the Pit. Half-covered in shadow, a small figure furtively walks down the hallway. He or she is clad all over in black. I can't say much about the identity of the person, most of the figure camouflaged in the dark. Who'd be venturing alone in Dauntless so late at night? I sit up, alert and curious. The figure slips out from the range of the camera. I quickly type in the required commands, shifting through the cameras near that area until I catch sight of the figure again. Following the person's progress down the path, I can guess that his or her purpose is to get out of Dauntless. I squint the screen, trying to determine the person's identity, but fail. It is only when the person nears the main exit from the Dauntless building that I catch her face against a sliver of light that falls on it from the street. My teeth sink into my bottom lip in shock.

Tris?

Without even knowing what I am doing, I find myself out of the chair and running out of the control room. What could Tris be doing, sneaking out in the middle of the night? My curiosity burns through me; I have to find out.

I take the elevator and hurry down the Pire to the entrance. The cool night air hits me in the face as I step out. I stare at the empty road, bits of paper tumbling across the street in the breeze. And then I spot her. She is running, which is why she has gained a large distance between us. Narrowing my eyes at the darkness to keep her in sight, I start running too, careful not to make any noise.

Soon the distance between us has been reduced considerably, and I can see the way her blonde hair swings in its ponytail as she runs. She stops and turns suddenly, and I dive aside to conceal myself behind a broken telephone booth just time. Tris' eyes scan the surroundings warily. She must have felt my presence or heard me. For several seconds she looks around, trying to spot anyone, but eventually satisfied, turns away and starts running again.

Tris stops by the train tracks, her posture alert and expectant. She looks like a soldier on a mission, quite different from how I am used to seeing her. I hide myself in the shadow of a building, waiting for the train to arrive. It's thirteen minutes past eleven. The train arrives in two minutes. Tris had the schedule memorized, it seems.

Tris seems on edge and wary.

"Who's there?" she shouts suddenly. "Show yourself!" Unmoving in my hiding spot, I appreciate the caution she follows, even though her unknown motive baffles and bothers me. She reminds me of myself going to meet Evelyn.

The train arrives, and Tris quickly climbs into it with ease. I let a few carriages pass so she wouldn't see me, and then breaking into a sprint, grab the handle of a carriage and swing myself in.

The night trains are slower than day trains, allowing a good look at the passing cityscape. But as I lean out of the train, it is not to enjoy the view, but to see where Tris will get down.

Dauntless fades into the distance as the train moves; the common areas come and go; I watch my school passing by in the distance, and other familiar landmarks. Finally, the train moves towards Erudite. I look at the intimidating structures of glass and steel, the lights still on in the buildings even so late at night. It makes Evelyn's words ring in my ears — " _The lights are on at Erudite headquarters all the time now. Which means that they're not afraid of getting in trouble with the council leaders anymore, which . . . suggests something about their growing dissent_ ". A deep feeling of anger and uncertainty creeps through me.

I don't know what I had been expecting, which stop I had imagined would be Tris' destination. Maybe Abnegation, to see her family. But whatever it was, it wasn't Erudite. But there it is. I almost miss her small figure as she leaps out of the train and runs towards the Erudite buildings. Only almost. Watching her move towards the faction which is doubtlessly our enemy, _her_ enemy, I wish I had missed her. Because I feel my insides crumble at the sight.

The train moves slowly through the Erudite sector, and I have plenty of time to observe things. I see a figure in dark blue step out from the darkness towards Tris. I would like to convince myself that it is only her brother, but the figure is too lithe, too feminine. It's a woman. I watch with a growing numbness within me as the two move towards the buildings, until the darkness hides them from view.

I don't get down from the train. I don't need to. I have seen enough.

I sink down to the floor, leaning against the wall of the compartment as the train circles the city back to Dauntless, my arms hugging my knees. I trusted her. _I trusted her_. And for what? Nothing. How could she do this? After everything I have seen her through, the last thing I would have doubted was her loyalty. She had stood up to Eric. She had voiced her concern for the changes the leaders have been bringing in Dauntless. She had condemned her brother for becoming Jeanine's minion. After all that... how?

 _People can pretend,_ a sly voice whispers in my head. _They can lie. Haven't you been doing the same? How much of her did you know, anyway?_

I think of all that we have been through, her kisses, her confessions of love. I believed her. Lies, all lies. I had been stupid to think I would be loved, that I would find happiness. Now I have been betrayed all over again, by the very person I had hoped I could have a future with. Whom, maybe, I could find love with. I groan into my hands.

So this is her secret? This was why she never told me, even after me imploring to her so many times? I remember how my image in the fear simulation had accused her of lying and blamed her for all the death and destruction. It wasn't baseless, then. But if she is really afraid of that, of her friends dying, of Abnegation ruined, then why is she here? It makes no sense. Part of me wants to wait, to forgive her, because it still believes in her goodness, trusts in her. But the rest of my weather-beaten soul is sick of so many betrayals. I am tired of this.

 _At least give her a chance to explain herself_ , a complacent voice tells me. _Don't jump to conclusions before you know the truth._

 _The truth I will know_ , I think grimly as I jump down from the train at Dauntless. My steps are heavy, my thoughts bitter as I walk down the lonely street and stand in wait at the entrance to the Dauntless building for Tris'.

To hell with being a gentleman. Tris Prior is going to tell me all her secrets. Tonight.


	11. Answers

**It's been a while, I know, I'm sorry, especially when you've been waiting for this chapter for so long. But I had college admissions this week keeping me busy (I'm finally a college student now, yay! Classes start next week). As a bonus, this chapter is ridiculously long (I couldn't shorten it if I tried). Hope you like it!**

 **Thank you all for the reads, reviews, favorites and follows. They mean a lot, really. :)**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 11: Answers**_

Time loses its meaning as I wait for Tris to return. The night is dark, the moon's faint glow a frail shadow compared to the illumination of the electric lights on both sides of the streets. Neither seems to reach me, the impenetrable darkness of my thoughts enveloping me. How could Tris do this? Why? What is her intention behind going to an enemy faction? Why couldn't she _trust me_? Everything that happened between us, right from the moment she kissed me near the Ferris wheel to her confession about loving me — everything feels like one big lie. My fingers clutch my hair in frustration, tugging at the strands with almost enough force to pull them out by the roots. I want to scream, yell or break something or hit someone, anything destructive, anything painful. I want to take back everything that I gave up to Tris in these two weeks — my faith, my heart; I pushed my barriers back for her more than I had for anyone. And after that... I can't believe this. It just... feels so wrong. Everything about this, about what I just saw, feels wrong. _Betrayal always does,_ a voice sneers in my head. I sag against the wall, wanting most of all to dissolve into oblivion, to forget everything about that petite blonde girl.

But there are too many blanks to fill even in my latest discovery — facts which do not add up. Even considering her previous actions to be just a cover for her real motives, it doesn't fit. I don't get why she should lay her loyalty with the Erudite if she cares for her friends and family enough to see them dying in her fear simulation, to hear Jeanine's voice commanding her to shoot her family and bargaining with her over my life. She can't be that clueless to be unaware of what she has signed up for, can she? I don't understand. I don't understand any of it. But in all that mess, one thing is crystal clear — she lied to me. She hid things from me. All this time, she has kept some enormous secret hidden from me. She never trusted me, not once. All she did was lie. _Haven't you done the same to her? Haven't you hidden your identity from her? Hidden your communication with your factionless mother?_ my conscience speaks. It's different, I convince myself. Evelyn's connection with me is not the same as Tris' allegiance to the Erudite. The very thought causes anger to bubble up in me like acid, destroying logic, destroying forgiveness. With a guttural scream, I pick up a loose stone from the road and hurl it into the distance, hearing the sound of glass shattering as it hits one of the abandoned buildings on the other side of the road. It doesn't make me feel better in any way.

The silence is all-consuming, my only companion as I stand at the entrance to Dauntless. Of course, there are other ways to enter or exit the Dauntless compound, but they are known by few, and seeing as Tris exited this way, she would return by the same route.

Her footsteps are very quiet, but loud enough to my strained ears. It took her long enough; I'd estimate it to be around an hour. Hidden from my spot in the shadows, I watch as she walks down the street, coming closer and closer. Her head is bowed, a thoughtful crease over her brow visible in the part of her face discernible in the darkness. She appears oblivious to her surroundings, walking on autopilot. Only when she is almost close enough to bump into me does she look up. And gasps, stopping in her tracks. Her eyes widen in clear terror, her mouth popping open, dismayed. The guilt written everywhere over her face acts as fuel to my anger. I want to speak, but now that I am facing her, wave after wave of anger and hurt washes over me, rendering me dumb, unable to do anything other than glare at her, my arms crossed over my chest.

Throbbing, pulsing silence envelopes us. Tris looks at me, clearly frightened. At other times, it would bother me that my sight and expression can elicit such a reaction from her, something I never wanted, but now I feel nothing, only some cruel satisfaction at her being caught red-handed and fully aware of her wrongdoing.

"Um, hi?" Tris all but squeaks out. Her words almost cause the flood of emotions inside me to spill out, but even in my current state I know that this is not the place to speak. There are cameras around, and even if Tris is a traitor, I would not like her to be caught this way. This is between her and me. Unable to bring myself to talk to her without losing control completely, I mutely grab her hand and pull her inside the headquarters. Tris gasps in alarm, trying to free herself, but I don't relent. Turning my back to her shocked, bewildered expression, I start dragging her by the wrist in the direction of my apartment. She stumbles along, forced to move.

"To — uh, Four? What —?" she tries, stuttering. I almost laugh. After everything, _everything_ , she is still bothered about hiding her knowledge of my real name? I don't deign to reply, still dragging her on. My thoughts are scrambled, all lost in a haze of red. I am probably hurting her; my hold on her wrist is too tight. I can't bring myself to care.

We make our way through the Pit in complete silence. I make it a point to stay as far away from the cameras as possible. Nobody is careful in the night shift, but there is no use taking unnecessary risks. Tris has stopped struggling; she stumbles after me obediently, though I am sure that her compliance is because of me physically dragging her and not because of her own will. We reach my apartment and I push her in first, before stepping in myself and locking the door behind me. Tris stands exactly where my push left her, her gaze flitting between me and the floor. When I lean back against the door, staring at her without blinking, she looks at me, caught in my gaze. I could hurl every accusation dancing at the tip of my tongue at her, but I want to see what she has to say for herself. Tris seems to realize that I am not going to start the conversation, so she wets her lower lip with her tongue, and says:

"I —" she halts, clearing her throat. "This isn't what it looks like."

I think that's exactly what people say when they are caught cheating on their significant others.

"Oh, it isn't, is it?" I say quietly. Tris flinches at my voice, and at the moment, I am suddenly reminded that this would be my exact reaction when Marcus used this tone on me. I push the guilt and the shame away. "So you weren't out of the headquarters at night, despite knowing that initiates are not supposed to stray outside alone? You didn't go out to the Erudite headquarters to meet a member of that faction?"

Tris averts her eyes from me, looking small and vulnerable. "Yes. Yes, I was, but —"

"And I don't think it was your brother you were meeting, Tris." I already know the answer; I saw that it was a woman with my own eyes, but I say it still.

She sighs. "No."

Hearing the admission from her own lips feels so much worse. My anger rises to such a height that I want to punch the wall until my knuckles break. I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to exhale deeply, in an attempt at calming myself enough to hold a meaningful conversation. "Tris, I assume that you know that the Erudite..." I pause, trying to phrase it in a way that does not involve swearing, "...don't have the best intentions as far as we are concerned?"

 _Say no. Please say no._ I don't know why I am trying to give her these chances instead of openly accusing her; maybe it is because I desperately want this to be a mistake on her part rather than deliberate betrayal. Maybe because I need her to be _my_ Tris, the girl I thought she was when I kissed her through these days.

But my hopes are in vain. Tris gives a jerky little nod. I press my lips together, feeling the anger mounting with terrifying force. What alarms me more is the sheer amount of hurt I feel, like pinpricks everywhere under my skin. I used to think I was invincible, unbreakable, my barriers perfect. I couldn't have been more wrong.

"I was hoping you'd say no," I say quietly, hearing my voice shake. "Well, care to enlighten me?" _Why, Tris, why? Why are you doing this to me?_

"I was out of the headquarters tonight, and I did go to Erudite to see someone... who is not my brother," Tris says, her voice soft and nervous. "But not for the reasons you think."

 _Oh yes?_ I simply raise my eyebrow at her, not trusting my anger-laced voice to speak.

"I'm... I'm not a spy," she says. "I am not working with the Erudite. I am not a traitor."

"You are not, are you?" My emotions finally break through in a rant. "Then what are you? That's what I'd like to know. I thought that I would wait for you to open up to me on your own; I did not want to push you. And this is what I get for that! I thought I could trust you. I hoped I could _love_ you!" Tris gasps at my words as I clutch at my hair in frustration; damn, this wasn't supposed to come out. But I go on, unable to stop now that I have started speaking. "I wanted us to work! But how can I possibly believe in you, after all this? You are nothing like you appear to the common eye. _Who are you, Tris Prior?_ "

"I —" Tris' eyes are swimming with tears. A small part of me wants to cross the distance between us and wipe them off, but I am angry, far too angry. "I _am_ what it seems. I am just a girl, a Dauntless. But..." she hesitates. "It's a long story."

I shrug. "I've got all night." I am not going to let her go this time. Enough is enough.

Tris sighs, accepting defeat, and suggests that I cool off a little before hearing her out.

"How can I be sure you won't lie?" I ask bitterly. _It's all you've done to me._

"I swear it on my life," Tris says firmly. "I — Four —"

I smile a twisted smile at her. "Oh, just say my real name already," I say coldly. "It's not as if it's a secret that you know it." When I had imagined a scenario of letting her use my name openly, this certainly was not it.

"Okay," she says in a small voice, almost cowering from me. "I'm sorry I hid things from you, Tobias. I promise I won't lie to you anymore. Please wait an hour — to calm down? I need to clear my head too."

"Half an hour," I negotiate. I can't possibly wait so long. I'll go mad.

"Alright." She nods, looking away. "Fine."

Seconds tick away in uncomfortable silence, Tris' eyes on the floor, mine on her. I still can't fathom the events that have unfolded before my eyes tonight. It seems impossible that it was only this evening that she told me that she loves me, that I _deserve_ to be loved. It seems ages ago, the fact that I had actually envisioned having a future with her feeling like a dream. Is it all shattered now? Was I blind all this time, living under a lie?

"Is everything between us a lie?" I can't help say quietly. I don't want to look vulnerable to her, but there is no use denying that I am; she has made me, without even knowing it. "I don't know what to believe anymore, Tris. How can I trust you at all, anymore?"

The tears filling Tris' eyes to the brim threaten to spill. Her lips tremble. "You can," she pleads. "Please, believe in me. I'm not trying to deceive you in any way. Tobias, please, trust me."

I want to. I know I want to. I don't know if I can. I don't know what to say. So I don't, turning my back to her, refusing to look at her tear-filled blue-gray eyes, which, even through my haze of anger and pain, call out to me to close the distance between us.

"Um. See you in half an hour, then," Tris says awkwardly.

"Don't think of trying to get out again," I warn her without turning towards her. I hear her mumbled affirmative, and then the door creaks open and then clicks shut, and I am left alone.

With a heavy sigh, I turn around to ensure that Tris is no longer in the room. What is happening? What will happen now? I sit down on the bed, trying hard not to guess what Tris' explanation will be, because whatever it is, I'll probably imagine something way worse, or the other way round. I wonder what I should do in the situation of her being a traitor. I am well aware of Dauntless' growing alliance with Erudite, and it's not quite that I am entirely loyal to my faction either... I just don't know. I wonder for the umpteenth time where Tris and I stand now. Could I have been so mistaken about her all this time, with my image of her as the brave, selfless, clever and kind girl? In her I saw everything, every value that I idolize. Was I so wrong? I had been a fool where Evelyn was concerned, believing that she loved me most of all, enough to never leave me voluntarily; is this going to be the same with Tris? I groan, letting my head drop to my hands.

I don't realize when half an hour passed — it seemed to fly by and linger for an eternity simultaneously. I hear quiet footsteps and look up from my hands to see Tris standing before me, looking at me nervously.

"You are still mad at me, aren't you?" she asks softly.

"No," I say immediately. My anger has reduced from the uncontrollable height it had reached, receding to something akin to tiredness. But there's no use lying and telling her I'm fine, especially when she can see it in my eyes. I sigh. "Okay, yes I am. Do you expect me not to be, after this?"

Tris' shoulders slump. "Maybe then —"

"Don't you dare stall it," I order her quickly. I need this out, now. I pat the spot on the bed beside me in a silent invitation. She walks over and sits down, and I can't help notice the more than enough space between us. It's relieving and painful at the same time.

"Okay," she says quietly. "What do you want to know?"

"The right answer would be 'everything'," I say, but go for the thing that has been bothering me from the earliest, "but you could start with how much you know about me."

Tris takes a deep breath. "Okay. Well, I know that your name is Tobias Eaton. Your parents are Marcus and Evelyn Eaton. Your mother apparently died at a young age at childbirth, and your father abused you." I inhale sharply. I don't know what I had expected, but I certainly had not expected her to know so much — my family history, something which no one other than my parents and I knew. Could the Erudite reports be her source? And if she knew my miserable history all this time...

"I am surprised you haven't looked at me differently all this time, if you knew all that," I say in a low voice.

Tris raises an eyebrow at me. "Differently, how?"

"Like I am a kicked puppy or something." It was one of the reasons I never told anyone of what I had been through — the only response I would get from them is pity, and that, I cannot stand. But Tris never acted like that, not once, even though she knew.

"Because you are not," she says with a little laugh. Had the timing been different, I would have kissed her for being the incredible girl she is, but now I don't move from my place. "You really don't know me at all, do you?" _I thought I did, just maybe. But now I'm sure I don't._ Tris must think of something in her words too, because the laughter disappears from her face. I clear my throat awkwardly.

"Alright, get on with it."

She does, and with every word she speaks, my shock keeps mounting. She gives a detailed description of my tattoos, something which no one other than Tori knows, and the thought of her knowing the smallest details of the skin that always remains hidden under my shirt makes me blush. Out of the corner of my eyes, I observe her cheeks turning pink.

She talks about my mother becoming factionless, and my plans of leaving Dauntless and why I have been stalling; she talks about my four fears — and the more she talks, the more stunned I become. I can't understand... how could she know all this? Nobody, _nobody_ knows all of these facts other than myself. With all the knowledge she has, Tris holds the power to ruin me. And yet she never did anything of the sort. I don't know what it is that I feel — fear or wonder.

"You know more about me than anyone else does," I say.

"Yeah, I guess," Tris murmurs.

I don't even have to think out the next question. "How?"

This is it. The answer. The truth. Tris takes a long, shuddering breath, as if bracing herself.

"I know it will seem farfetched, but I am from the future. My body belongs to now, but my consciousness is from the future. I...I've been through everything once already, Tobias."

I blink stupidly for several seconds as the words hit me. I was probably ready for anything, anything but this. Future? What the hell? This is impossible.

"W-what?" I stutter, struggling to speak coherently over the shock her revelation has caused me. I try to say more, to ask her to explain further, or wonder aloud how the future has anything to do with her knowing pretty much the entirety of my mind, but I manage to come up with nothing, only opening and shutting my mouth in silence.

"That's the truth," Tris says. "In my... last life, if I put it that way, when I died, I went back in time, to now."

From her words, my brain mainly latches on to two of them — 'I died'. I gasp. "You died?"

Tris looks at me. "Yes."

"When? Your age, I mean."

She looks down thoughtfully. "I don't keep track of my birthday, being an Abnegation, you know, but I guess... I was, what, seventeen, maximum? It would be some months from now."

Her words make me freeze. _Seventeen. Some months from now._ All in a moment, the nightmares I've had concerning Tris — her lying stabbed by the rail tracks, her falling to the chasm, all come to the forefront of my mind. Every other thought escapes me other than _she died_. Nothing really makes sense at the moment, but the fact that she died within the age of seventeen, however and whenever, hits like a dagger to my chest. My hand grips her wrist, as if to ascertain that she is still here, that she won't disappear any moment. Tris died by seventeen. This is so wrong. So unfair.

Tris calling my name breaks me out of my daze. I open my eyes, not knowing when I closed them, and release her hand from my grip. This was inappropriate.

"Sorry," I say. "I... got lost for a moment."

Tris nods. "So... Do you believe me?"

I stop and think. The concept is so strange; it is not even scientifically credible. But if she had to lie to me, wouldn't Tris offer me some other, more probable explanation, instead of saying something that sounds like it's out of a fiction novel? I sigh, making my decision. "It feels impossible, really, but there is no reason why anyone who wants to lie would say something so unlikely to happen, so it must be the truth."

Tris nods, her eyes bright with gratitude. "Thank you."

"So your consciousness was transferred to now when you died," I say, still trying to wrap my head around the idea. "You were asked to go back."

"I was given a choice," she says. "When I died, I saw my mother. She...she had died already. She told me I could die, or I could go back and try to change things, to stop them from happening the way they did. I chose the latter."

I blink, curious. Why would anyone want to go back, knowing that the times that lay ahead are dark and dangerous? Wouldn't death, eternal sleep, seem so much more appealing? Maybe I'm a coward, but that's how it appears to me.

"Why?" I ask in a whisper.

"I..." Tris pauses, then looks at me. "Because of you. I couldn't imagine leaving you alone. I thought how it would be for you if I died like that... without even saying goodbye, and I knew I had to do it."

Her words are enough to make the rest of the anger leave me, leaving behind only wonder. It's difficult to believe that I could be important enough to Tris, to _anyone_ at all, to be the sole reason behind her taking such a momentous decision. "We...we were close to each other, right? Together?" I find my arms draping themselves around her. I never realized when I moved close to her, or if she moved close to me. I don't try to move away.

Her head is bowed; she nods, and a single drop of water drops on my arm.

"I loved you," she says. "I still do."

"And I loved you," I wonder aloud. It is difficult to think it the right way, knowing that it is me we are talking about and yet not me, someone who _was_ to Tris and someone who _will be_ to me. Or, may or may not be. Who knows if things will even remain the same to how she experienced them? But either way, I can't imagine _anyone_ , let alone me, not loving Tris when she loved that person so much.

"Yes," Tris confirms. I relax a little.

"Good," I say, and honestly, "I cannot imagine it any other way."

We sit quietly for some time, my arms around her and her breathing quick and sharp, like a bird's, against me. My anger is all but gone, replaced instead by feelings I can't even name. Time travel was an abstract concept to me, something impossible, and yet the proof of the phenomenon sits before me. I might have been inclined to consider it all a lie, but if one were to think of it, the only thing that answers all the questions that have bothered me so far — Tris' extraordinary prowess and her excess knowledge, is what she says. Her body may be sixteen once again (not that she was much older when she died, I think with a shudder), but her experience remains. The only question that is yet to be answered is why she was out tonight. So I ask it away, pulling back to look at her.

"Please... tell me honestly," I implore. "You are not a traitor?"

"No!" she exclaims, and what a relief it is to hear that one little word! Her blue-gray eyes never waver from me. "I'm trying to stop the Erudite's plans, not help them. I want to stop the attack on Abnegation. That's what I went for."

"To meet an Erudite?" I say skeptically, some of the disbelief still lingering.

"She is Will's sister, Cara," Tris says. "She has agreed to help me. I need inside information, especially about the serums. I can't do all that by myself."

I think of what I had found about the attack, about serum D2. It's all the masterminding of the Erudite. Can one of them be trusted enough to be an ally? I ask Tris so.

She nods. "Hope is the best I can do. She has her brother's life on stake."

I don't quite understand what she means by that — if Tris blackmailed Cara, but I expect she will tell me eventually. Instead, I tell her everything I found about the Erudite.

"I was planning to tell you that, but, well..." I trail off, shrugging. But tonight changed everything. Now I don't even know what to think.

"We have to stop it," Tris says, biting her lip. "If we fail, the entire Abnegation will be wiped out."

I nod. This is the exact fear that has plagued me these days. "What was it like, in your past life? It happened, right? That's how you know?"

"Yes," Tris says quietly. "The Erudite will use the Dauntless to fight. They don't have any warfare resources themselves."

"I know," I say. I had guessed as much from my spying. "What I can't figure out is how they are going to get us to fight."

"Neurotransmitters," answers Tris. "They'll inject us with a simulation serum with the excuse of using it for tracking people if they went missing." She looks distinctly uncomfortable talking about it. "In the reality I came from, the attack was essentially successful. The simulation changed all Dauntless to brain-dead soldiers."

"What?" I ask sharply. So that is serum D2? It's horrifying imagining such a situation.

Tris nods, continuing with the story. She tells me how the serum was injected to most of the Dauntless, and how only the Divergent were resistant to it. It offers me a sliver of hope; this means that in the situation, I'd be awake, and Tris too. But that hope soon dies when Tris talks about us getting caught and being taken to Jeanine.

"She gave you a test serum which worked even on the Divergent. It made your friends appear to be enemies." Tris pauses then, silently looking at me, her expression pained. It takes me a while to fully process what she has said. A serum that makes me see my friends as enemies. Tris was with me. That means it would make Tris appear... Horror dawns upon me.

"I — I didn't hurt you, did I?" I ask her. It doesn't matter at that moment that _I_ didn't do it; if she was hurt... "Tris, please. Tell me I didn't hurt you." Automatically, my grip around her arms tightens. _Please say no. Please._ But she remains silent, which can only mean one thing. I groan, my head dropping on her shoulder. "Oh, God." Was it I who killed her? Could I have killed her under the simulation? If I did... I'd never be able to forgive myself.

"Anyway," Tris continues shakily. "They sent you to keep the simulation running." I relax ever so slightly; at least I didn't kill her. But my relief evaporates with her next sentence. "They locked me away in a glass tank full of water." My eyes widen in horror; how twisted can our enemies be to use Tris' fear simulation against her?

Tris continues her story, and the pain on her face is visible. She relates how her mother sacrificed herself to save her, how she shot down Will to save her own life. By this point, her sobs take over. I hold her close to me, wordlessly trying to comfort her. I feel helpless, knowing that I could do nothing to help her in these situations.

"God, Tobias, I killed my own friend." She sniffs.

"You had no choice," I tell her, silently cursing and marveling the Erudite's diabolical plan. Tris nods, wiping her tears.

"I went to the Dauntless headquarters with my dad, Caleb and Marcus." The mention of my father causes me to stiffen. I don't want him anywhere near Tris. I try to imagine the three Abnegation and one Dauntless moving through the first test of Dauntless initiation.

"Did you take the way one has to for initiation?" I can't help ask, just to confirm.

"Yes. Why?"

"Nothing." I smirk a little bitterly. "Just trying to imagine my father do it." I imagine him trying to board the running train and jump off a seven storied building, just like I had to, and feel a wave of cruel satisfaction at the thought of him undergoing the hardships. Part of me hopes he died on the way, but I somehow know he didn't; I guess the ones who deserve it don't die so easily.

"We had to evade the guards under simulation. My father...died in the way, trying to save me." Tris doesn't even pause this time, giving me only a couple of seconds to process that she lost both her parents in one day. My respect for her just keeps growing. "I found you in the control room." She pauses.

"And?" I urge her on. _I_ _didn't kill you, did I?_

"You escaped the simulation."

I blink. _Huh_? "What? How? Just like that?" This is too easy.

"You are Divergent, Tobias," Tris says, her gaze drifting from mine for the first time since she started narrating her tale. "You can break any simulation. You — heard my voice, when I tried to get you to wake up. That's what you said." I sense that she is hiding something, but the relief that I feel swamps everything else.

I listen as Tris continues her story, urging her on and asking questions every now and then. I can't put a name to my emotions as the events progress. It feels almost surreal, listening to these events and my part in them when they have not even occurred, and yet feeling the truth ring through in them, because the current circumstances can very easily and surely lead in this direction. I feel horrified and grieved at Marlene's death and Shauna's paralysis, and when Tris speaks about her giving herself up to the Erudite, I feel a pain so sharp that I can't even describe it. At every point, I am afraid that this is where she died, that this is where I became inadequate, where I couldn't save her. But her story goes on, and with every deadly situation she lives through, my respect and awe for this girl heightens, knowing that she is here today past so much.

Then Tris explains how the Dauntless allied with the factionless, and how she lied to me, staying back, only to go to Erudite with Marcus. The fact hits me hard, especially after her deceit to me so far.

"I can't believe you worked with Marcus," I say rather harshly, my tone raw with hurt even though it didn't happen to _me_ , yet.

"I'm sorry I had to lie to you," Tris says. "I needed the truth. There was no one else I could turn to."

"The truth," I snort at the irony that she should go to that liar for the truth, "You thought you could learn the truth from a liar, a traitor, a sociopath?"

"Glad to know you're the same man I loved." Tris laughs humorlessly. "You said the same thing to me then." Her words make me clamp my mouth shut. They carry some deeper bitterness and make me wonder if the differences between the two of us at that time ran deeper than what her brief narrative tells me. The thought is quite disturbing. A tight silence falls between us, shattering the understanding that had slowly built through the course of Tris' tale. I motion for her to continue. Talking is the best way to overcome the tension between us.

Tris obliges, and talks about her little group breaking into Erudite and saving the innocent people, and at that moment, I realize how narrowly we Dauntless must have been thinking — our enmity was with Jeanine and the traitors, but in our desire for revenge, we forgot that Erudite consisted of innocent people too. I can't believe that even I forgot that. Tris tells me how Lynn died in the conflict, and how Tori killed Jeanine, and finally, how the factionless effectively made us all weaponless. The facts hit me like a slap to the face. We were so stupid. _I_ was so stupid. All that time, Dauntless was a pawn in Evelyn's hands. We gave up so much, for what? I should have known that it was a mistake to trust my mother.

"I'm glad you did what you did," I tell her quietly. "I don't know what could have come over me to not think of all the innocent people in Erudite. I never want to do this. And after everything... we were all fools. You were the only one was sensible."

Instead of patronizing me like anyone would be expected to, Tris places her hand over mine. " _You_ haven't done anything," she says firmly. "This hasn't happened yet, remember? Even though I am saying it all in the past tense. We'll make sure it never happens."

I turn my hand to properly hold hers. She gives my hand a gentle squeeze.

"We will," I say, promising myself so as I do. I will not make the same mistakes, not after Tris has warned me of their price.

"You managed to get the drive," Tris says.

"What?" I look at her, startled at the sudden turn in the tale.

"You listened to me. You hunted it out with Caleb and played the file out in from of everyone." Tris tells me what the video showed — of the woman named Amanda Ritter and how she wiped her memory to become Tris' ancestor Edith Prior, of the war that took place and the call to the Divergent as the saviors of the world that lay outside the fence. At the end of the little speech, all I feel is wonder. Finally, my question of what lies beyond the fence is answered.

"So there's a whole wide world outside," I say. "I always wondered what's beyond the fence."

"That video wasn't the entire truth, though," Tris replies.

"No?" I frown, unprepared for more lies. "Then what is?"

Tris nods, indicating that she is coming to that, and goes on with the narrative, saying that the faction system was destroyed after Evelyn's rise, and how everyone was required to wear mixed clothing, how the faction bowls were destroyed and how Evelyn's dictatorship became something so similar to Jeanine's. I confess that I had thought of this before, imagined our society without the factions, where people were free, but I never imagined it like this. The image which Tris weaves before me only sickens me. Is there no way for our society to heal? Must we have no other option than travelling from one evil to the other? Tris tells me of the Allegiant, a rebel group loyal to the faction system, and how we became a part of it, and I find myself being glad of this resistance movement.

Tris continues to talk, going on about the formation of the group and our escape beyond the fence to find out about the needs Amanda Ritter spoke of.

"We had traveled some distance when a truck came," Tris says. "There were two people in it — Zoe and Amar."

I can't stop the low sound of surprise that escapes me when I hear my instructor's name. Could it possibly be — _No, don't be stupid. He is dead. Just get that fact straight._

Tris looks at me curiously, and I think there is a hint of a smile on her lips. "What?"

"Nothing," I say. "Amar... My instructor had the same name."

"That's because he is the same man." She is openly smiling now.

"What?" My mind practically blanks out with shock. "It can't be! Amar is dead. He was Divergent, and they killed him."

But Tris shakes her head. "No, Tobias. He escaped. He is fine."

It is still difficult to accept this news, after all the time it had taken for me to accept that he really died. Amar's death was the ultimate warning for the danger of Divergence to me; it was what inspired me to work so hard to keep the Divergent initiates alive, and also why I started spying on Max in the first place. "Wow," I finally manage to breathe out. "That's great news."

After this point of the story, I'm not sure if it's just me, but it seems that Tris becomes a little vague in her narrative. She talks about the Bureau of Genetic Welfare where Amar works, about this man David and Natalie Prior's association with that organization. The fact that Natalie was only a plant to this city shocks me; I imagine what it must have been for Tris then, having lost her mother and discovering that she never knew the truth about her at all. It runs similarly, in the littlest of ways, with my situation with Evelyn. Except Natalie Prior was a great woman, a brave woman.

But there are parts where Tris seems to be really vague, like she is omitting parts of the story. I would ask her if that is the case, but what she tells me already feels a lot to handle, so I keep quiet, trying to mull the information over in my head. The concept of genetic purity, and that Divergence is ultimately a product of that, is one of the more difficult facts for me to handle.

"There was an attack by a rebel group on David," Tris says. "And... in the process, Uriah... he died."

"No!" My eyes widen in horror. "No... Zeke's brother..." I can imagine the situation before we left the city — Zeke telling me to take care of his little brother. I couldn't keep that promise. I let Uriah die. Tris' vision from her simulation flashes before my eyes — Uriah tossed in the air like a rag doll from an explosion. The young man who always joked with me — who poked me in the arm to check because I was being 'Stiffer' than usual — dead? Zeke would never forgive me. I would never forgive myself.

Tris nods at my words, her eyes wet.

"So many people," I sigh, lowering my head on her shoulder, seeking reprieve, seeking relief. "So many dead..." Every scene of Tris' third fear makes sense now. Marlene falling off the building under the simulation, Will aiming his gun at Tris, blank faced, until she shot him, Christina blaming her, Natalie getting shot, Uriah's and Tori's death. The story feels so much more real, so much more horrifying when I remember those scenes.

"And then David decided that the chaos in Chicago was too much," Tris continues, "and he thought that the memory serum should be used, to start everything afresh."

"What?" Fury rises within me, hot and boiling as one shock follows the next. "First they use us for an experiment, spy on us, and now they are trying to play some sort of God?"

"I know." Tris' voice echoes my anger, and I am reminded that she experienced this injustice firsthand. "We made a plan to stop it... or I did. We would release the memory serum on them, to make them forget the concept of 'pure' and 'damaged'. So you, Christina and a few others went to Chicago to inoculate those we love, and Caleb was supposed to go into the weapons lab, pass through the death serum that was placed as a guard, and activate the switch. It was all going according to plan, but then we were caught, and so... I left Caleb and went to the lab myself."

It's too easy to imagine what happened next, and it is terrifying just how easy it is to imagine it in sharp detail — Tris saving her traitor of a brother to go to the lab herself and giving up her life. Of course.

"And you died," I guess, knowing that there are no other options there, really. I don't know what to feel.

"I went past the death serum, I don't know how, but I did," Tris says, and I stare at her in surprise and awe. "But David had suspected us already, so he was there, inoculated against the death serum. He shot me. That's how I died. But not before I activated the memory serum."

And that's how it ends. Tris turns around to face me, nervously trying to gauge my reaction. I am not sure about it myself. All I feel is a crushing wave of grief, some anger, a lot of hurt, and underneath everything, pride, for the girl who is more selfless and brave than anyone I have ever known.

"I'm not surprised at what you did," I tell her, my face close to hers. "That is exactly the sort of thing I imagine only you can do. And as much I hate to say it, you were right to do it." A sigh escapes my lips. "I don't know how I'd live after that, though." Already, I can't imagine what I'd do if she died. After all that time... I think I'd be broken beyond repair.

"Well, I am here now, am I not?" Tris says, her smile unsteady. "And this time, I'll try not to die on you."

"Good," I growl softly, running a knuckle along her jawline, savoring her touch, making it my anchor to reality, "because I'll kill you if you do." We laugh at the poorly made joke, our laughter shaky and strange from all the emotions choking us. This story affected us both, and each in a different way. It must have been painful for Tris to recount all of her horrifying past, to talk about all the people she lost. I wonder how she has coped with facing all the people she saw die, now alive, and knowing that the events can lead up the same road yet again. It must be terrifying.

As for myself, I feel like I am a plant uprooted from my spot, tossed around in a storm and then thrown down somewhere. Everything I had known in life seems to have shifted and disintegrated, giving way to new discoveries. That there is such a wide world outside, that _our existence is merely as an experiment_ , it's all a lot to digest, almost too much. We have been lied to, through and through. Earlier I'd thought that Tris was a puzzle which I had to solve, but now it appears that I myself am a piece of a much greater puzzle, a pawn in the great scheme of things. And things are about to go downhill if nothing is done about it.

"What are you thinking?" Tris' whisper wrenches me out from my daze, her hand moving to rest on mine.

"A lot of things?" I end up saying it like a question. "That was... a lot to digest. Would I be exaggerating if I say that my life feels like a lie?"

"Not at all." She smiles wryly. "I felt the same way when I found it all out, and I can only imagine what it must be for you to hear it all at once."

"Were you ever planning to tell me all this?" I can't help ask, some of the earlier tiredness and anger seeping back into my voice. "Would I have found the truth about you at all, if I hadn't caught you tonight?" It still hurts that I had to pry this information out of her; she didn't trust me.

"I would have," Tris says sincerely. "I was going to tell you tomorrow, you know. I wanted to tell you earlier, right from the moment we met, but I just didn't know how to, or when. I was so afraid that it would break things between us, and I'd lose you forever. What if you hated me, and didn't look at me the same way again? I'd never be able to live with that. I was so frightened, Tobias."

Her insecurities take me off guard. "Why would I hate you?" I ask, wide-eyed. "I don't hate you, never will."

"Well, you should," Tris insists. "I'm not a good person. I have made mistakes. I have killed people, ruined lives!"

"Stop hating yourself so much, Tris," I sigh. It seems like we have the same streak of self-loathing within us. "You are an amazing person. I am certainly no better than you, trust me, so I can never judge you."

"I didn't want you to carry the burden of knowing what's in store for us, either," Tris murmurs, her eyes downcast. "I wanted you to be normal. Just the way you are."

"I still haven't changed," I tell her firmly, determined not to let her regret her decision of trusting me. "Yes, all this was a lot to take, but I am fine. And I'd rather share this weight with you, than have you hold it up alone. I can only imagine what it must have been for you all these days." It must really be difficult, keeping the huge secret while being constantly worried about the consequences of her actions.

"There are so many people I have to save, that I want to save," Tris sighs, defeat and tiredness creeping into her expression. "When Mom told me I could come back, I thought... I don't know, maybe that I can go back to the living world, to you. But now... I have so many responsibilities. What if I make a mistake? What if instead of making things better, I make them worse?"

I look at her, brushing the stray strands of hair from her face. "You won't be alone," I promise her, "I will help you."

"I know." She buries her face in my shoulder. I feel her smile against my shirt. "I love you."

It feels indescribably delightful to hear those three words from her lips again. When I found her going to Erudite, I had lost all hope of hearing them ever again. I pull her back from me only to press kisses to her forehead, cheeks, neck, and finally on her lips, wordlessly trying to convey my emotions to her. She sighs into my mouth, and I press myself against her even more, craving more of her touch. This is a sign that we are finally okay, that I trust her now and care about her more than ever; I hope she understands that.

"How much did you manage to do till now?" I ask her quietly, pulling back, but still holding her against me.

"Not much really," Tris says with some hopelessness in her voice. "I stood up against Eric when he went for Christina, if it counts as anything. And I stopped Peter from taking out Edward's eye with that butter knife. I talked to Cara, Will's sister, and told her about the upcoming attack, that Will may die. She has been researching about the serum and trying whatever she can to help. But it's not enough." She looks at me. "I need your help."

"I'll do whatever you need me to," I promise her, and she smiles.

"Thank you," she says, then yawns. It makes me think of the time; it is indeed late, and it's been a long day and a rough night between us. "Do you mind if we talk about it tomorrow?"

I shrug. "No problem. It's late anyway." I've heard enough for one day anyway.

I know that we both are in need of sleep, but I feel reluctant to let Tris go, her skin flush against mine, her body fitting perfectly against me. The anger and sense of betrayal that I had felt towards her feels ages ago. I wonder how I forgave her so easily, because I am not a forgiving type of person at all. Maybe it is because there was nothing much to forgive her for in the first face, when she has been suffering so much already, or maybe it is because I like her too much. Tris doesn't seem to be in a hurry to leave my side either, so we just sit together, savoring each other's company.

"The first time around, you were in my fear landscape, you know," Tris says suddenly. The sudden deviation of topic indicates that she said it impulsively, thoughtlessly. Hurt and horror shoots though me.

"What?" I pull back to look at her. Could I be that much of a monster? What boyfriend appears as a fear to his girlfriend? "Why — what was I doing?"

Tris turns bright red. I can tell that she is regretting revealing this fact to me. "Trying — er, to have sex with me." She smiles shyly.

I feel relieved as I understand that the fear isn't really me, but being with me."Fear of intimacy," I conclude, nodding. Her being from Abnegation would cause her to have conservative views where romance is concerned, and getting involved with me early on would bring up that fear. "Well, thankfully it was me, not some other boy. How did you stop the sim?"

"By saying no, and kissing you," she grins. "I lost that fear that very day."

"Good." I smile, relieved. At least she isn't afraid of being with me anymore. "Just so you know, I am new at this type of things too. Zeke tried to set me up a couple of times, but let's say, they were all complete disasters. " I wouldn't like her to live under the illusion that I am dating her simply for the physical side of the relationship, or that I have experience and expectations regarding the subject.

"Yes," Tris chuckles. "You told me."

"But now you are more experienced than me," I grumble playfully, realizing that technically she has already been in a long-term relationship, while I have not."So unfair."

"Too right I am," Tris says, laughing. "I can be your instructor here."

"I'll show you 'instructor'," I growl, teasing, and lean in to fit my mouth to hers, her teasing causing desire to erupt within me. Tris seems momentarily staggered by the gesture, before she too kisses me eagerly. The feeling of her soft lips against mine and her fingers tugging at my hair makes me forget everything else in the world, and at the moment, I can't imagine ever letting her go.

Finally, when we pull away, Tris drops down on my pillow, her eyes fluttering with tiredness. I smile at the adorable picture she makes, with her swollen lips set in a smile and her hair fanned out around her, her sharp blue eyes tired and yet looking at me with so much adoration, and cover her with my quilt.

"I should leave," she mumbles, her words, slurring ever so slightly with sleep. "Go to my dorm... Goodnight."

"Don't think about it," I say, laughing. She would pass out in a hallway if she tried; she is obviously in no condition to move. "You are staying the night here. If you are not uncomfortable, that is. You take the bed, I'll sleep on the floor."

I begin to move away from her, prepared to hunt out a spare pillow and quilt from the drawers, but before I can shift more than an inch or so, Tris' small hand grabs my arm.

"Please," she requests. "Stay with me. Don't leave."

Her words cause my smile to broaden, and I let myself be pulled close to her. "I'm not going anywhere, if that is what you want," I promise. "Ever." And I mean it in every sense.

Even some days ago, I wouldn't be able to imagine myself sharing a bed with another girl. But with Tris by my side, her sweet scent enveloping me and my arms automatically wrapping around her so that my chest presses against her back, I wouldn't like to be anywhere else. There are so many things to worry about, so many new opportunities and potential dangers that have opened up to me; tomorrow seems so much more uncertain now. But for now, I push them all away, letting Tris' slow, measured breaths lull me to sleep, the soft golden of her hair the last thing I see before my eyes flutter shut.


	12. Aftermath

**I finally managed to write another chapter... apologies for the delay, as usual. Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited and followed this story.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 12: Aftermath**_

'Confused' doesn't even begin to cover how I feel when I slowly surface from sleep in the morning. There is someone touching me, their arm draped lightly over mine. Alarm bells ring in my head past the strange comfort the touch provides, and my eyes fly open, only to latch onto the other person in my bed.

Oh. Tris.

It takes one look at her face for all the events of last night to come rushing back to me. And once again, it's all so overwhelming that the room feels like it's spinning around me. Tris is from the future. She knows everything about me. The Erudite attack on the Abnegation is going to take place within days. My mother could rise to be a dictator as bad as Jeanine. All of us are just parts of an experiment. God, it's so much to believe. Too much.

As a means to hold on to my sanity, my gaze automatically finds Tris, as if she is the only thing that matters in the world. She lays on her side, facing me, her breathing deep and slow. She looks so innocent, strands of her hair falling into her face. She is still in her shirt and hooded jacket which she wore last night. Looking at her, it is difficult to believe that she is not just an innocent sixteen year old, that she has been through so much and carries so much pressure upon her. She looks so peaceful. I wonder what it might feel like, to know exactly what lies in store for you, and that every little deviation in your actions can lead to so much change in the chain of events. It's a hard feat to imagine. It must be so much harder for her to go through.

Would I have liked Tris if she hadn't shone in her skills, selflessness and bravery because she held the knowledge of the future and the experience of her past? It takes not even a second's thought for my heart to confirm that I would have, even if she hadn't told me that I liked her in her past life. Something tells me that the greater her unassuming cover, the more I would have been drawn to her, intrigued by her quiet bravery and innate stubbornness. Her being the unsolvable puzzle this time just brought the appeal in a different way.

Gently lifting her hand from my arm and moving it away, I shift away from her to get off the bed. Tris shifts a little but does not wake. I brush my teeth and take a quick shower. Tris is still asleep when I step out, dry but yet to wear my shirt. With a sigh, I stride over to the kitchen space, planting my hands on the kitchen counter, my head lowered in thought. My mind mulls over the mistakes I have made in Tris' life. It is still difficult putting the thought the right way, if it is possible at all — because _I_ didn't commit those follies, at least not yet, but _Tobias Eaton_ did, as far as Tris' account is concerned. Even though Tris didn't dwell on it, I could guess that we had not been on very good terms for a long time after the attack on Abnegation — I can guess it by the lack of my presence by her side in her tough times, though why it should happen, I have no idea . Then I made a mistake in trusting my mother. I finally let myself turn into the pawn I never wanted to be. And the biggest of it all — I let Tris die. I know I wasn't there to protect her when she went to the lab; I should have been. All these events show that I didn't quite get to know what the real Tris was; I misjudged her plans and actions. Standing here making a checklist of my faults is painful; it makes me feel so much heavier than how my frame really is.

Two thin arms wrap around my torso, the palms gently pressing against my abdomen. Instinctively, I stiffen, the first thing the foreign touch reminding me of being Marcus, but then I realize that it's Tris. I let myself relax.

"Morning," I murmur, reaching out to lightly touch her hands where they rest on my skin. "Sleep well?"

"Better than many nights," Tris replies."How about you?"

"Really well, surprisingly," I say, surprise dawning with the realization, "seeing as I am not used to sharing a bed with anyone." I try to think back and remember if I had some nightmare, but all I come up with are frail memories of light touches and the feeling of soft lips on my cheek. It unexpectedly makes me wants to smile, the realization that I have never actually slept so well as I did with Tris only just setting in.

Tris hums against my body, her soft voice sending vibrations down my back, before pulling back. We stare at each other for a moment, myself acutely aware of the closeness between us. Her eyes skim over my exposed chest, and suddenly, I feel uncomfortable, ashamed of my scars more than ever. I know that she must have seen me shirtless before (and I try not to think of the possibility of her having seen me in a state of further undress), what with her detailed knowledge of my tattoos, but now, with her so close, I can't help feel shy. I walk away from her to grab a T-shirt and pull it over me.

"I know that you must have seen me shirtless before," I explain sheepishly, feeling the warmth on my cheeks, "but I don't usually invite many people to look at me, any person, actually."

"It's okay, I understand," Tris says with a genuine smile. "But, well... you have no reason to. I mean, look at you."

The thrill of pleasure that her comment sends through me is undeniable, my heart leaping at the fact that she finds me desirable, but I wave her comment off. If only she knew... _oh well, she does know,_ I remind myself. It is really astounding that even after discovering all my broken pieces, she still loves me. I wonder how far into a relationship Tris had gone with me her first time around, to have me give up all of my secrets. How much had we been through together? When had we started dating? Before initiation, like this time, or had my self-control lasted long enough? These are trivial details, irrelevant in the bigger picture, and yet I can't help my curiosity over it, still having a tough time dealing with the story Tris told me last night.

"What are you thinking?" Tris' voice breaks me out of my musings. I look at her.

"About last night," I say. "I got food for thought for a lifetime."

She nods, her expression empathetic. "I have a question for you."

I raise an eyebrow at her curiously. "I thought I was supposed to be the one asking the questions," I say, half-teasing.

"I think I have given enough answers to deserve at least one," Tris says with a small smile.

 _Fair enough._ I shrug. "Go on."

"How much had you figured about me, before last night? I have been dying to know, but I couldn't ask. Since when had you been suspecting?"

I almost smile at her curiosity, and more so because I would have asked the same question had I been in her place.

"Quite some time, actually," I say, remembering all the questions that have plagued me ever since I met her for the first time. I tell her about her unexpected excellence in the physical tests and her appearance of ease in Dauntless — it was even easier for me to spot out the discrepancies in her behavior because I myself came from Abnegation.

"Then Zeke told me that you had boarded and got off the train perfectly too," I continue. "His brother was in awe of you." I am not even aware of the scowl that makes its way into my face, giving image towards my possessiveness for Tris, until she comments on it.

"Tobias, there's no need to be jealous of _Uriah_ , he's like a brother to me." She looks amused.

"Who said I was jealous?" I scoff, knowing it to be only half a lie. Tris chuckles, shaking her head, seeing right through me.

"Okay, then, tell me more," she requests.

"Then that night when I found you crying by the Chasm, you said my name in your sleep while I was taking you to the dormitory." I vividly remember the night, the first time I was properly aware of my feelings for her, though in denial. Tris blushes bright red. Recalling that night reignites my curiosity, causing me to ask the question which was never answered, not even by Tris' explanation last night. "Why were you crying? You never told me."

Tris sighs, all amusement leaving her face. "I had a nightmare," she says quietly. "I don't know if it was just my imagination or the truth... but I saw how things were with you after I died. I saw how it was after you came back from Chicago to the Bureau... and found out what happened. And I felt what you felt."

Tris' confession leaves me in shock. Never in my wildest dreams could I have guessed that the cause of Tris' misery, her tears, was _me_ , my grief. As much as I try, I can't put a name to the emotions I feel. It is bad enough for me to suffer after her death, but it is so much worse for her to have to experience the aftermath of her death.

"How bad?" I ask her quietly, remembering her heartbreaking sobs.

"Was my reaction not enough to tell you that?" Tris whispers, the hush between us enveloping us in our own little bubble, keeping out all other concerns. Yes, her reaction was enough, more than enough;, it tells me that and another thing — it tells me that I can't possibly go through the pain of anything happening to Tris, and that I can't allow her to suffer as she did that night. We need to survive, both of us; we need to be there for each other. And the biggest thing that it tells me is that I can't let Tris die. I can't. No way.

Tris shifts closer to me so that I can the heat from her body; I reach out and let my thumb graze her palm in a slow, repetitive motion, as a small attempt at offering both of us comfort.

"Go on, please," she begs, and I oblige; talking relieves us of the painful thoughts.

"At first I thought that it might be that it was some other Tobias you were talking in your sleep about, but I think we both know that you slipped up a fair few times since then." I can't help the small smile which lifts my lips; once I had only been scared and bewildered by the fact that she might know my name, but now it only delights me, knowing that it was me, me all along.

"Yes," Tris mumbles, looking a little flustered. "It was hard... I had gotten used to calling you by your real name."

My smile grows steadily on my face at her admission, part of me suddenly aching to hear her say my name without circumstances blocking us — without her slipping or me snapping at her. I give in. "Say it."

Tris looks at me. "What?"

"Say my name," I request.

"Tobias," she says, each syllable leaving her lips with a honey-sweet drawl, never sounding so wonderful on any other set. Perhaps because it is a rare occasion where my name actually holds some affection, where it is not being shouted out or growled with anger and accusation. Or maybe because it's Tris. I immediately decide that I can't get enough of it.

"Once more?" I plead, the smile stuck on my lips.

"Tobias." Tris' smile grows. "Tobias, I love you."

Her words take my breath away. I'd always considered romance overrated, especially with the open display that we get in Dauntless clashing intensely with my Abnegation lessons, but now I understand exactly what people talked about when they went on and on about someone saying 'I love you' to them.

My gaze lowers to the floor as heat rushes to my face, concentrating on my cheeks. I automatically reach for her hand, brushing my lips against her soft skin. "I could get used to this," I murmur. This is insane, what three little words can do to me. Not many people have said this to me, and certainly never the right one, before this. With Tris, her words feel honest; they make me feel loved. Wanted.

We sit in companionable silence for a while as I wait for my racing heartbeat to steady and for my crazy emotions to cool off.

"You did well at hiding the truth about yourself," I continue once I am sure that my voice is absolutely normal and not clogged with emotions. "But you slipped a few times. You were too comfortable with the Dauntless and their customs, more than any Stiff could be. You were too good with the violence. And you gave vague answers anytime I asked you."

"Sounds a lot like you yourself," remarks Tris, a grin blooming on her face.

"Maybe." I laugh, realizing how true her observation is. We really are similar. "But I am glad you told me the truth." I don't know how much longer I would have been able to go on with our relationship with our secrets separating us, with my constant questions and guesses.

"Me too," Tris says. "I am sorry I didn't tell you earlier." She looks down with a sigh. "We need to plan. We don't have much time."

I nod. There is so much trouble ahead, the entire scheme of the Erudite for us to defeat, only to begin with. If we fail, I now know exactly how bad things will be. I open my mouth to speak, but then Tris' stomach rumbles. Her face flames up immediately, her gaze dropping to the floor with mortification.

"It seems that breakfast is the need of the hour, though," I say, laughing at her adorably red face. "You can use my shower if you want," I offer. "I'll leave before you; we shouldn't be seen together."

Tris nods gratefully. "Thanks."

I watch her peel off her jacket, the tattoo of the three ravens prominent against her collarbone, as I pick up my hair trimmer. My Abnegation trimmer which I had once smashed against the wall of this very room had only one blade, to cut the hair to only one length — close cropped, as was required by that faction. The Dauntless trimmer provides several options. Over these years, I've let my hair grow out a little, letting it develop dark curls over my head, but today, perhaps because of Tris revealing her knowledge about me, I find myself switching to the blade which would cut my hair short, Abnegation short. The fact that she knows who I am still loves and accepts me for that suddenly makes me unafraid, eager to show a little of my true self to my faction.

"Tobias." Tris' anxious voice snaps me to attention. I turn to find her face awash with horror, her teeth worrying at her lower lip.

"What is it?" I ask her anxiously, surprised at this sudden change in her mood.

"Cameras," she whispers, looking terrified. "There aren't any cameras in your room?"

"No, there aren't," I say slowly, thinking carefully to ensure that my answer is right. "I told the authorities very specifically that I would not permit cameras in my apartment." I can't see where this is going. Even if there were cameras, the only people who might hear us now would be few in number, and I know that no one is interested in what happens around a member, really. "Why?"

"David." That one word is enough to make me understand. I find my horror mounting to equal Tris' expression. If David were to have witnessed everything Tris told me... the damage would be irreparable. We would lose everything. But there aren't any cameras here... or am I wrong? Could they be hidden somewhere? Suddenly I am not so sure.

"We should look," Tris says, echoing my thoughts. "Just in case."

I nod quickly, and we hurry to scan every inch of the room. Some other time, I couldn't even imagine letting someone pilfer through my things, but at the moment I couldn't care less. _Please let me be right. No cameras, please._ I don't want to think of the consequences if I am wrong.

Finally, after what feels like ages, Tris and I finish my search. There are no cameras in the room. I sag against the wall, relief washing the tension away. Tris' expression reflects my feelings.

"Let's go to breakfast, then," I say to Tris; our search took away the time for her to shower and for me to shave. I hope she can freshen up sometime in her dorm later. "Come here after today's simulations, then we can talk."

Tris agrees, and with this promise, we part ways.

-o0o-

With Tris' departure, all the information she had supplied to me suddenly seems to appear out of a book. Not that it's not believable; in fact, parts of it are terrifyingly so, but the whole job of keeping everything in mind feels much more difficult. After all, all I have just heard was a narration, that too short and somewhat vague in places. One cannot blame me for taking my time sifting through it. The credibility to a tale is always proportional to the amount of details it has, and while I believe everything Tris said, my brain keeps trying to anchor itself to the reality that we had been taught ever since we began thinking instead of the one I have just heard, which practically turns everything I have known upside down. I just wish I had more proof, more details. Tris is the only proof I have, and with her gone, everything she told me takes a dreamlike quality.

I am so lost in my thoughts that I end up bumping with several people, many of whom are not amused in the least, so I pull my thoughts to narrower realms and quickly snag a table for breakfast.

Tris' fear today is a repetition of her third fear — her fear of failing, and this time, instead of letting myself get lost in the pain and helplessness of not being able to help her, I use each image as a little anchor to bind me tighter to the story I have heard.

 _He was under the sim. I killed him. God, Tobias, I killed my own friend!_ Will stares blankly at Tris, gun pointed at her. Tris shoots. Christina screams accusations at her.

 _My father...died in the way, trying to save me._ Andrew Prior walks into the flames, blaming his daughter for her choices.

 _My mother came just in time to save me, but... but she got shot._ Natalie's body crumples to the ground, riddled with bullets.

 _Marlene and Hector were under simulation, along with another young girl. I saved Hector and Christina caught the girl before she fell, but Marlene…_ I watch as both Hector and Marlene fall to their death, Marlene with a warning on her lips, Tris frozen in place, not even granted a choice in the simulation.

 _We were almost there, almost past towards safety. But Tori... she didn't make it. She was shot._ Tori's bloodied body lies at Tris' feet.

 _There was an attack by a rebel group on David. And... In the process, Uriah... he died._ The explosion shakes the ground; Uriah falls, battered and lifeless.

Tris does better this time, stopping the simulation before the appearance of my simulation self. I wordlessly help her up and allow her to leave the room, blinking back tears, while I sit in my place for minutes, grappling with the thoughts of the grave consequences of our potential inaction or mistakes.

-o0o-

I use the free time between the simulations and dinner to visit the control room and go through Max's files a second time. The evidence there matches perfectly with Tris' prediction of the attack — the weapons, the serum, the map containing the course of action. I feel sick at heart. I have to do something to stop it. I can't help think of Evelyn's indifference as the map of the Abnegation sector stares up at me, of her schemes that actually profit from the destruction of Abnegation. It is sickening to think that for even a short time, I had actually sided with her, seen the situation through her eyes. According to Tris, the attack should take place just after initiation. The day is not far at all. Time's running out.

Closing all the programs, I return to the Pit, and declining the offers of hanging out from Zeke and Shauna after dinner, retreat to my apartment to wait for Tris. A knock sounds at the door scarcely ten minutes after my entering.

"Come in!" I call, rising from my bed to step closer to the door. The door opens by a crack and Tris slips in, shutting it behind her. A smile makes its way on my face automatically at the sight of her; I hadn't expected her to be here so early.

"Hey," I greet her. "I wasn't expecting you so soon. Your friends didn't notice?"

"It's surprising how little people notice when they are too busy staring at each other," Tris says with a slightly exasperated and yet fond smile, obviously referring to Will and Christina.

"You could be speaking about us," I comment, feeling unnaturally light around her; all the troubles bothering me merely an hour ago evaporating. Our relationship seems to have developed into something stronger overnight, perhaps because we have finally come clean on our secrets. There is nothing between us now.

"Us?" Tris says with a raised eyebrow, a smile at one corner of her lips, "I was thinking Uriah and me would be more appropriate."

I tell myself that she is joking; I know it, and yet I can't control the scowl that comes over my face. I am so stupid. And jealous.

Tris bursts out laughing, obviously successful in her joke.

"Aw, Tobias, did you fall for that?" she teases. I smirk internally, regaining control of myself with her laughter. Oh, so is this how it is going to be? Well, two can play at a game.

"You'd better watch your mouth around me, initiate," I say coldly, adopting my most detached tone that I use to put initiates in line. It's overrated, really, but Tris' smile slips off her face, much to my amusement.

"Tobias, I didn't mean —" she begins uncertainly.

Now it is my turn to laugh. And God, does it feel good to laugh around her! "Aw, Tris, did you fall for that?" I tease her back, mimicking her.

"Ha ha, very funny." Tris narrows her eyes, taking another step closer to me, leaving us at touching distance. All of a sudden, the playful atmosphere intensifies to something stronger, something powerful. I can't stop staring deep into Tris' intense blue-gray eyes, which seem to be turning a darker gray, more intense, her pupils dilating. It's difficult to imagine that only last night, everything I had felt for her had threatened to fall apart, my trust in her almost broken. At the moment, I can't imagine trusting anyone more, or wanting anyone more. Tris' eyes flit between my eyes and my lips, coy invitation and desire lighting in them. Her teeth graze her bottom lip, the gesture probably just unconscious but sensuous still, and it is all I need for every barrier within me to be broken. Taking the final step, I capture her lips with mine. I feel Tris smiling against my lips, pulling up a smile of my own, and I feel sparks everywhere on my skin as Tris' fingers drift over my biceps and then dance over my chest, over my shirt. In a fleeting second of madness, I wish I'd just take it off.

"Can't keep your hands to yourself?" I tease, grinning as I press a kiss at the corner of her mouth.

"I never seem to be able to when I'm with you," Tris replies with a sinful smirk. "Although most girls in Dauntless would like to say the same."

"Like I care," I scoff, still grinning like a loon as I push back her jacket slowly from her shoulders, aching to explore more of her skin. I couldn't care less if a thousand girls wanted me; all that matters is Tris. And nothing could make me happier than having her right here, like this. I don't know where this is going, and I don't care; I just let my instincts guide me, my experience too little to be of any use. I just want to let my fingers and lips explore, to feel every inch of her, and that is what I do.

Tris says something as I run my lips over the shell of her ear, but the words don't reach me, only the thought of how breathless and sexy she sounds.

"Hmm?" I hum distractedly, still intent on enjoying every moment with her.

"We have to... plan."

The words reach me slowly, as if through a heavy filter, and it is only after a few seconds that my lust-driven brain manages to process the message. I pull away from Tris.

"Planning. Yeah. Right." I shake my head like a wet dog, trying to get my thoughts straight. Right. We decided to meet so we can plan about how to stop the Erudite attack.

"OK, then," I say, still a little dazed, "why don't you get on the bed so we can be more comfortable? I'll join you." I regret saying it as soon as I do, as the other meaning of the sentence hits me, bombarding my brain with images I'd rather not have. I feel my face heat up, the tightness in my pants only intensifying as Tris obliges, climbing onto the bed. Judging by the rosiness on her cheeks, she has been thinking along the same lines as me.

I turn my thoughts to matters of greater concern. A quick rewind of Tris' simulation in my mind is enough to sober me up. We have these lives on stake.

"So," I look at Tris, the heady desire between us subsided for the while, "have you got something in mind?"

"I was hoping to get the composition of the serum changed," Tris says, "or at least get an inoculation for it, so that Jeanine's attack fails, but Cara said she couldn't do anything about it. She said that the only way to stop the attack is by deactivating the drive that issues the instructions."

"That's bad." I frown; I hadn't it would be this difficult. "It knocks off one option from our hands. So we have to see how we can stop the drive from working."

"I don't think we can lay our hands on it early; it's bound to be confidential."

"Yes," I say. "I have been keeping tabs on Max whenever I can, and there isn't anything of the sort among his belongings yet. But then, I guess Jeanine will provide it only once the serum is ready."

Tris purses her lips, the little gesture an image of the uncertainty and worry that I feel. The more we talk about it, the more complicated our job seems. We are already relying on a third party, and even if Will's sister does her job properly, our job isn't even half done. Things are easier said than done, and even talking about this isn't easy.

"The first thing we could do is warn the Abnegation," Tris speaks again. "If they know about the attack and secure themselves in their houses, the Dauntless won't be able to unexpectedly

Tris' words hit me unexpectedly hard. I think back to my conversation with Evelyn. I could have done this; I could have warned the Abnegation, and taken our plan a step ahead in a much shorter time. But I didn't. I am such a coward. So pathetic.

"Tobias?" Tris says tentatively, and I realize that my expression has set into a frown. "Tobias, what is it?"

"Nothing," I lie, unable to meet her eyes.

I hear her sigh. "I am not going to force you to tell me if you don't want to," Tris says quietly, and I hesitatingly allow my eyes to meet hers, "but please don't lie to me and say it's nothing." She can see through me too well.

I sigh, looking at her directly. "I had thought of that earlier," I admit shamefully. "I — went to see my mother some days ago and told her about it. She... knows what is about to happen. And she doesn't want to do anything about it, or me to do anything about it either. I have thought of telling Marcus, but —" But how could I? The only Abnegation I could think of going to was Marcus — the only one who knew me and my identity, who would recognize Tobias in Four. But as much I hate myself for it, I couldn't bring up the courage to face my father. Whenever I thought of him, all I felt was hatred and a dull dread, and Evelyn's words would flash in my mind, turning my hatred for Marcus into hatred for Abnegation, telling me that I don't need to waste myself at trying to save a bunch of hypocrites. But Abnegation also contained Tris, and it contains people like Natalie Prior. People who deserve to be saved.

"You don't have to," Tris suggests. "I will go see my parents and warn them, maybe tomorrow."

I nod, relieved. Knowingly or not, she has taken a huge load off my head. "That's good. And now we need to think about getting the hard drive."

"You tell me," Tris says. "You are the one who's the expert with computers."

I press my fingers together, thinking. "I think I can stop the program from running once I see it," I offer, fairly confident of my skills at computer applications. "The main problem will be getting to the Control Room without being seen." It is difficult to get past anything at all in Dauntless, because of the sheer number of cameras in the compound. I work in the control room; I would know.

We sink into silence, Tris' lack of input indicating that she has left this matter entirely in my hands and has nothing to add. I try to think logically. The foremost problem we have is being spotted on the cameras. Someone must be keeping watch to ensure that things are going according to plan. The route to the Pire must be specially monitored, and the control room guarded.

However stealthily we move, the cameras will catch us. I could damage the cameras or disrupt the security program beforehand, but it would be noticed and alert Jeanine of our plans. What if the cameras could freeze in action…or…loop to show the same harmless scene over and over again?

 _Yes_! That's it.

Not for the first time am I proud and thankful of the enthusiasm of the Dauntless in making fun of others and their wit, which in most instances, is unacknowledged.

"I have an idea." I say, the plan becoming clearer in my head even as I speak. Tris looks up, a little startled. "I can't guarantee that this will work, and I'll have to ask Zeke for help, but it might just increase our chances." I'd tell Zeke that I need it for a prank; he could help without getting involved. Tris looks at me questioningly, silently prompting me to elaborate.

"We could modify the cameras so that they show a loop of images from a short while before," I suggest. "So to anyone looking at the footages, which someone definitely will be, no one walked into the Control Room."

"Wow!" A brilliant grin lights up Tris' face. "That's brilliant, Tobias!"

Her complement causes a blush to creep up my neck. "It's only an idea," I say, "but I'm confident that I can manage it with Zeke. He is a pro at pranking, especially where digital stuff is concerned." I think of the time constraint, and my smile disappears. This plan cannot be used for a long time; a long time of inaction would be suspicious, especially if Jeanine orders someone to stay on duty in that area, and the cameras show nothing. The game will be up. "But we can't use that tactic for a long time, because Jeanine will surely be in correspondence with the Dauntless leaders, so our plan might be noticed."

Tris' smile remains intact. "It's still good enough," she says. "Anything is better than nothing, and I think this is a great plan."

Maybe it is, but I can't deny the feeling that it's not enough. Only a paper-thin plan, with so many uncertainties in the way… we can't rest the lives of so many people on that. What if we get caught? What if we can't shut the simulation down in time? We need a backup plan. Looking into Tris' thoughtful cloudy blue eyes, I know she is thinking in the same direction as me.

"We should think up a plan B," Tris voices the silent opinion first.

"We should," I agree. "Think of something?"

I let Tris do the thinking this time; I suspect that she has an aptitude for Erudite, and can think that way. Besides, she knows Jeanine much better than I do from her encounters with her and her past experiences. At length, Tris looks up from my quilt, her expression pensive.

"If the person trying to get the hard drive, you or me that is, is caught," she says slowly, "we'll be surely taken to Jeanine. And if it is you, Jeanine will try to get you on her side. That you are amazing with computers is no secret to her."

I open my mouth, horrified, as the understanding sets in. In Tris' past life, Jeanine injected me with her experimental serum , which changed my perspective of things. If I am caught, that is what she will do. Tris nods, knowing what I am about to say. "She'll give you the other serum."

"If she dares —" I begin, seeing red at the thought. I won't let that woman use me again. I'll never hurt Tris. I won't be instrumental in the destruction of an innocent faction.

"No, you must let her!" Tris cuts in.

I stop short, my jaw dropping. I can't believe what I am hearing. "What?"

"I've talked to Cara, and she is trying to prepare a serum to provide inoculation against Jeanine's experimental serum," Tris explains. "If she is successful, you could take the serum. And when Jeanine injects you with her serum, all you have to do is pretend to be affected, and you will have open access to the Control Room. The last time around, there was no one in the Control Room other than you when I went there. You won't be watched."

There is reason in her plan, but I don't like it. If Cara's serum doesn't work , I'll become Jeanine's pawn. The very thought makes me feel ill. "I... don't like this," I say worriedly.

"It's the best way out," Tris insists. "And it is a backup plan. I am hoping we won't need to follow it."

I sigh. "Yes, I hope so too."

"Okay, so anything else?"

I think, but come up with nothing. We seem to have exhausted all the current avenues of discussion. "Not that I can think of," I admit. "You keep in touch with Cara and get things done at the earliest possible time. I'm going to keep up with my spying on Max and Jeanine and see if I can do anything useful."

Tris nods, a small crease appearing on her brow. "Be careful, Tobias," she says worriedly. "If you get caught..."

Her concern for me brings a smile to my face. No one has cared for me like this before; it still feels strange, in a good way. "Don't worry, I'll be fine," I assure her, trying to conceal the anxiety that I too feel . I have been spying on the Dauntless leaders ever since I became a member, but I have very nearly got caught several times. I live in constant fear that one day, one of the many secrets I have – from my true identity to my spying to my communication with my factionless mother, would be discovered, and then… I don't even know what would happen next.

"I should get going, then," Tris says, standing up. "Goodnight."

I don't want her to go; her presence feels like an anchor to the madness I have suddenly descended into, which blurs the lines of truth and lies for me, though I would never admit the extent of my disorientation to Tris. With her, I can let go of the worries of what is the truth and what is not, and what is to come and how to stop it (and ironically, she is the one who revealed all of this to me), and just be, and this being will feel right. But I know that it is late, and she needs to go; we will both be in trouble if she is caught sneaking out of my room. "Goodnight," I tell her, walking her to the door, revealing none of my true feelings, kissing her once before she leaves. "I'll see you tomorrow," I promise.

"I love you," she says with a smile, making my heart skip a beat once again, and then slips out quietly and shuts the door behind her. Gone. My apartment feels empty and desolate once again.

I retire to bed after that, having nothing better to do. Without Tris' presence, all the events of last night and today begin to sink back into a surreal, dreamlike state. The more I think about them, the more conflicted I become – about our future, about the decisions I should take, the very base of our existence shaken and turned upside down. I finally know Tris, and she knows all of me – the thought is relieving and scary in equal measure. There is much more to know about her – I will get to know eventually, but for now, my thoughts twist and turn in my head, too many, too much, until I am simply too exhausted to think anymore. I bury my face in the side of my bed where Tris had slept last night, finding small comforts in her faint scent which lingers on my pillow, and my mind finally blanks out as I fall asleep.

They say that sometimes, the true is so much more difficult to handle than the lies. I know just what it means, now.


	13. Further

**It's been almost a month since I updated... I am so, so, so sorry! Life has been crazy since college started, and I've had absolutely no time to write. Add to that my writer's block, and it was terrible. But here I am. I am also working on The Return, so please don't give up hope for that. Hope to update sooner next time. Thank you to all my readers for reviewing, favoriting and following... this story made past a hundred reviews, so THANK YOU! And before you chew my head off for blabbering so much, enjoy!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 13: Further**_

My eyes keep drifting towards Tris in the morning at the breakfast table. Not that there is any particular reason to; ever since she shared her secret with me (or rather, I forced her to, I think with a small amount of guilt), I haven't really been able to keep thoughts of her out of my head. Looking at her always brings the little ripples of feelings all over me in the minutes I let myself forget about her past, and when I think about that, wonder is all I feel, along with several other feelings I can't even name. At moments like these, I wonder how I am even supposed to help Tris, when my own state is practically more unstable than ever.

I refocus on my breakfast, chewing moodily on my toast. So much has happened in the last few days. After this, my shock at the discovery of Max's plans of the attack on Abnegation and my argument with my mother feel next to nothing.

When I look back at the table where Tris was, I find her seat empty. I blink in surprise. Will and Christina are still there, deep in conversation, and Al morosely toying with his breakfast. The simulations are a long time to start. I quickly crane my neck to inspect the rest of the hall, ignoring the curious looks I am getting from the Dauntless beside me, not quite knowing why the need to find Tris is so urgent. Finally, I look at the right spot just in time to see her petite figure moving towards the exit.

"Anything the matter, Four?" Zeke asks me from two seats away.

"No," I say vaguely, still distracted by Tris' sudden departure. I feel torn about whether or not I should follow her. There is no reason to, really; Tris is more than capable of defending herself if the need comes, and for all I know, she might just be going to the Pit to get a tattoo. But then my eyes catch another movement amongst the chaos of the dining hall – Eric. His gaze is fixed on Tris' retreating figure. And as Tris disappears, he stays very still for a couple of seconds, before rising from his seat and moving in the same direction as her. That makes the decision for me.

Perhaps I don't need to follow Tris, but I definitely need to follow Eric. Especially when he has been staring at Tris.

Zeke begins to speak as I abruptly stand up, my breakfast half-finished.

"Four, man, where —?" But Shauna places a hand on his arm, silencing him. Her eyes are just as curious as Zeke's, but she knows what I need — she knows when I want silence. I throw her a grateful look and stride out.

The Pit is crowded as always, but I can clearly see the two people I'm after. Tris is much farther away from me — as I dodge the crowds, I see her begin to climb the steps that lead outside. It reminds me of the Visiting Day... God. She must be going to see her parents like she told me she would. My jaw hardens as I look at Eric slowly navigating through the crowds, close enough to continue to spy on Tris but far enough to remain unnoticed. My eyes dart frantically between the two; could I intercept Tris before she goes too far, warn her of Eric? But no, there is no way I can do that without Eric spotting my association with Tris, and that will be my undoing as well as hers. I purse my lips as I make my decision — if Eric is suspicious of Tris enough to follow her, I'd better be in the scene. Just in case.

I remain far away from Eric as I follow him as silently as possible, which, unfortunately, also means that the distance between Tris and me is much greater than I would have liked. I comfort myself with the fact that in order to avoid detection, Eric himself is far behind Tris.

I glance at my watch; the train should be here within thirty seconds. Tris has the train scheduled memorized well. I watch as it comes hurtling down the tracks, horn blowing loudly. Tris jogs down the path, running along the train, and pulls herself in smoothly. Eric's walk, once consisting of slow steps and then brisk strides, now turns into slow jogging. With this pace, he will make it into one of the last carriages. If I can distract him, I can buy Tris some time. My eyes darting around, I pick up a large stone lying at the edge of the road. Quickly shifting into the shadow of the same building where I had hidden the night I followed Tris, I toss the stone at Eric. It lands near his feet, causing him to turn around and scan his surroundings, distracted. The train rushes away. Too late, Eric realizes the situation, and I suppress a snicker as I watch him run after the train but fail to hoist himself up in time. His face resembles a thundercloud as he looks around for the culprit. I shift backwards until my back hits the wall, satisfied. There is quite a time gap between the arrival of this train and the next; I have allowed Tris to have some time to get things done, at least.

When the next train finally arrives, Eric runs over to climb into a carriage, his movements impatient. I slip out from my hiding spot once I'm sure I won't be spotted, and quickly pull myself up into one of the last compartments.

The journey to Abnegation is tense, even though I am alone. I haven't been in that area ever since I left two years ago, and I don't want to go there again. As much as I want it to be otherwise, Abnegation largely means one and the same as Marcus to me. I hate myself for succumbing to it, for allowing Marcus to have his sway over me even though he cannot hurt me anymore. I want to get over this. But I know I wouldn't have made even the little headway that I have had I not met Tris. She brought me somewhere a little closer to light, to better decisions.

I jump down, staring back at my childhood. My muscles tighten. Ahead of me, I see Eric moving slowly, purposefully, looking around. I wonder how much of the attack that he will be a part of within days does he know. I slow down, distancing myself even more from him, staying in the shadows with my head down. It won't be good if he turns around and spots me.

Eric turns round the corner, and even as I reach the spot he passed, several hundred yards away, I hear several things. A dull thump, a squeak, muffled words, then the quick pattering of footsteps. I hurriedly slide into the narrow space between two houses, my shoulder colliding painfully with the concrete in my haste.

"You can't run away from me, Tris!" I hear Eric's voice in the distance. "Your weak little Stiff body isn't enough!"

Shit. He found Tris, then. I try to think how I can help her, when the quick footsteps turn louder. Light ones, unlike Eric's. Tris. I inhale sharply, waiting for her to be close enough. The footsteps come closer and closer — five feet, three, two...

A shadow falls over my hiding place. Tris' small figure is visible, gasping to get back her breath. Eric's footsteps are audible now, coming closer. We need to act fast. I slide out of the narrow space, grabbing hold of Tris and dragging her back to where I was. She struggles immediately, her mouth opening to scream, and I silence her quickly by placing my hand over her mouth. Her elbow digs sharply into my gut. I let out a grunt of pain. She is stronger than she is given credit.

"Hush, Tris," I tell her in a whisper. "It's me."

She recognizes my voice; her body relaxes against mine. I can feel her lips move against my hand, about to speak, but then she freezes as the heavy footsteps come closer. My body stiffens in response to hers.

It would perhaps be many men's dream to be squeezed in a narrow space with the girl they like pressed every inch against them, the two bodies practically entangled to be one, but I can't stop the quick beating of my heart and the sweat collecting on my forehead. Earlier, the thought of hiding Tris in time had kept my claustrophobia at bay, but now, with my space lessened to an even greater extent by Tris' presence, all I can think about is how this is too close, too less, how the walls seem to be crushing me in and there seems to be too less air and _I just want to get out..._ The tension caused by Eric's presence near us doesn't help my cause. But I don't move a muscle, standing stiffly in this limited space with Tris' quick, quiet breathing against me, so close that I can't even tell where my body ends and hers begins. The footsteps come closer and closer, until we get a glimpse of the dark jacket and gelled hair which I have come to detest. I stop breathing. Tris does too.

Eric walks ahead without stopping.

"You can't hide, forever, Tris!" he calls out from afar. "You'll have to come back home eventually, you know."

I know. Tris can't avoid confrontation with Eric forever; he will search her out in Dauntless. But that is a problem we can solve. We will think up something.

We stand absolutely still, waiting for Eric to leave. As much as I just want to push myself out of here, I can't, not without destroying everything we have worked for. The tiny seconds feel like immeasurably long hours. I close my eyes, taking deep breaths of the air laced with Tris' sweet scent, hoping for it to calm me. My arms are tight around her. Why doesn't Eric leave already?

Finally, the train horn sounds in the distance, and when the noise fades away, I feel Tris relax, and my body echoes her, although not much — the walls are still too close, too tight around me. We stand frozen against each other as the seconds tick by. I want to throw myself out of this space, but I don't push Tris, letting her steady her nerves. She seems to notice my discomfiture in a couple of seconds, and quickly slips out into the open, allowing me to follow suit. I stand in the wide street, gratefully taking in deep gulps of air.

"I'm so sorry for hitting you then," Tris says, still a little breathless. She struggles to meet my eyes. "I panicked and —"

"It's completely fine," I cut her off mid-apology. My nerves are only just calming from their strained state, both from the threat that was Eric and more importantly, my claustrophobia. My abdomen still hurts from where Tris elbowed me, but I ignore the throbbing, satisfied with her. She was as wary as I'd have liked her to be. "I would have been very disappointed if you had just let someone kidnap you without a struggle."

"Thank you for turning up on time," Tris speaks again, gratefully. "How come you are here, by the way?" Gratitude gives way to curiosity.

"I saw you leave at breakfast, and when I saw Eric staring at you, I guessed that he might follow you," I explain. "Since I wasn't able to warn you in time, I thought I might be needed in the scene."

Tris nods, looking down. A blush creeps up her neck. "So much for leaving inconspicuously," she mumbles. "The entire faction might just have noticed me leaving."

I shouldn't laugh, but I can't help it. Her embarrassment always makes her look even more adorable. "Only those who would care enough to notice," I say, pulling her closer to me.

We walk down to the tracks in silence. A sliver of wariness lies in the air after the encounter with Eric.

"How did it go?" I ask Tris once we board the train that moves through Dauntless, and have made ourselves comfortable. I am not sure what to expect, but the surprise I feel isn't much when she grimaces.

"Not well, then," I surmise. I can't help feel the trickle of cold run down my spine at that. I was, in a way, hoping for something good after the trouble Tris went through.

"My father wasn't happy about me leaving Abnegation," Tris explains. Well, no surprise here. "And it seems that he still hasn't forgiven me. I did warn them about the attack... but I think I should have tried to explain more... It should have gone better. It was so awkward, short and clipped, I just didn't know what to say!" Tris sighs; the frustration is evident in her voice. "I don't know what's wrong with me — I have been so thoughtless and impulsive these days. What is wrong with me, Tobias? I should know better than to do whatever I feel like without thinking, and losing my temper, but that is exactly what I have been doing. I am messing everything up! What can I do?"

Her head is lowered in shame, her lips set in a downward curve. Her shoulders slump in defeat. But she is wrong about herself. So wrong.

I grab her by her slumped shoulders and pull her closer to me. "Firstly, you are not messing everything up," I tell Tris. "You have already done quite a lot in your situation, from what I know. You saved Edward. You have done a great deal of planning on stopping the Erudite attack, and if this works, it will be an amazing development." I'd never thought I would need to comfort her, console her — she has always been too strong and stubborn in my eyes. But sometimes I forget that she, too, is human, just as vulnerable as I am, and with a task which will almost need things more than human.

Tris doesn't seem convinced. She shakes her head. "It's not enough," she mumbles.

"Maybe not. But it is too early to say," I tell her sincerely, placing a hand on her shoulder, hoping to offer her comfort. "And you know what? The bravest thing you have done is choosing to come back and trying to change it all. Choosing death would have been the easiest and simplest way out, but you didn't take it. And that makes all the difference you need, Tris."

That seems to do the trick. A smile blooms on Tris' face, and she leans forward to press her face against my chest. The soft inhales and exhales of her against my shirt makes me shiver. "You really know how to make me feel better," she says softly, and I can feel the upward curve of her lips.

Taking advantage of the closeness, I bury my face in her sweet-smelling hair, taking deep breaths. Her words and her company, or simply her mood improving, has me smiling.

"And if you want to know what you can do, I think you know the answer yourself," I say. "You can stop pulling yourself down with all that guilt and thoughts about failing. And you should stop and think for a moment before jumping into things. Deliberation is necessary, and impulsiveness is integral to your character." I let my fingers run down her arms slowly, and she trembles. It makes me want to kiss her, touch her more, and never stop. But I go on as if she weren't affecting me so much. "I am not saying that it is going to be easy, it's not. But you can do it. You are strong."

"Yes, sir," Tris says with a lopsided smile. She leans up to kiss me on the cheek. It sends electric sparks of desire coursing through me, and I can't stop a stupid smile from creeping up my face. What is this girl doing to me? "Thank you."

"For what?" I ask.

"For trusting that I am strong."

I lean back against the wall. "Tris," I say, "my first instinct when I see you is to push you to breaking point, just to see you wake up to the fullest." It's a strange admission, a dangerous one — and it's the first time I am voicing it. I don't mean her any harm, I never have and never would; I would never hurt her, intentionally at least. I hope she knows what I mean. The image of her over the chasm flashes in my mind; it is at the hardest moments, moments like that, that she is at her most beautiful, at her strongest. Fascinating. "That should tell you enough."

She smiles at me, not saying anything, but it is enough to tell me that she understands.

"So, your parents agreed to secure themselves?" I ask Tris after a while of silence. Tris' expression darkens.

"I didn't tell you about it, did I?" she practically growls, her face a picture of displeasure. "They can't. The Abnegation have no security provisions."

For a few seconds, all I feel is blank shock as I try to process her words. No security provisions. What faction does not have security provisions? How is that even practical? But of course, Abnegation doesn't, the bunch of all those meek, head-bobbing do-gooders. I remember how Marcus never allowed my mother and me to lock our doors, how Evelyn kept her sobs silent through the night because she could not lock herself in and get a moment of peace. How on that day, just before my Choosing Day, Marcus had discovered me blocking the door with a chair. The lashings of his belt. Even after two years, I flinch at the memory. But all this time, I had never considered the possibility that Abnegation doesn't _have_ the equipment to lock their doors should the need come. No locks. They don't have any fucking _locks._ What stupid manifestation of their ridiculous show of selflessness is this? My palm smacks my forehead, hard.

"No security provisions," I repeat, my teeth gritted. "Of course. Isn't that just fantastic?" I feel a crushing wave of defeat. I had not thought for once that our problems would be so fundamental, so simple and yet so crippling. "What are we going to do?" I ask Tris, who is worrying on her lips, a crease between her brows.

She frowns, thinking, and a heavy silence falls between us. "I could ask Cara," she says finally. "If she agrees to help, it's the best option we can get. The Erudite have the best technology in all the city."

I am about to ask her if she is planning to sneak out at night again and go all the way to Erudite, when she pulls out something metallic and shiny from her trouser pocket. I look closely – it is a watch. But not the plain gray wristwatch which is the only one we are allowed to own in Abnegation, nor one of the completely black models we get in Dauntless. The watch Tris holds is glinting chrome, a ribbon of blue around the dial. I frown, knowing Tris not to be one to go for things of beauty, and open my mouth to ask her where she got it from and how the time is important for contacting Cara, when she turns the dial, which shifts aside at once to reveal a blue holographic screen. My jaw drops.

Tris looks at me, slight amusement in her eyes. "Where did you get that from?" I ask.

"Cara," Tris explains simply. "Erudite make." But of course. I should have known. That must be the way Tris and Cara have been communicating. I have already seen a small example of Erudite in Eric, and the few interactions with the members of that faction – also the factionless who were once Erudite. The qualities of the other factions never cease to amaze me, my desire to implement them all within myself, to be _whole,_ constant and ever-growing within me.

"Can I have a look?" I request. Tris nods and passes the watch to me. My amazement grows as I look at the holographic screen with the virtual keyboard, allowing me to type out a message. I move the dial as I had seen Tris do, making the screen disappear with a small click and then moving it back again. The dial of the watch is black with the hands and the numbers in white. Beautiful. A true work of genius. Once again, I think of how simpler our lives could have been if everyone could use such facilities, instead of having them segregated.

"It's incredible," I tell Tris, handing it back to her. "We have to give them that — the Erudite are geniuses."

"That's what they are known for," Tris says with a smile, and I watch as she types out a message on the screen.

"You think she will help?" I ask her. Paranoia is ingrained deeply inside of me; I can't trust people easily at all. The prospect of seeking help from someone of the very faction which is orchestrating the attack we are planning to stop makes me very uncomfortable. Maybe Tris trusts Cara, and she does have her reasons for that, but the woman has plenty of opportunities to rat us out to Jeanine, and we wouldn't be any wiser. How far can the safety of one's family hold its sway over a person?

"I can only hope so," Tris replies with a sigh. "I can't think of any other way we can get the stuff we need." Both of us can hear the helplessness in our conversation; the lack of avenues for action frustrates me.

"My mother could get her hands on something, I am sure," I say, frowning. My mother is almost as ambitious and resourceful as my father. Any one of them could have been a strong ally. Except that it is not a possibility at all. "The factionless are resourceful; they conduct frequent raids on the factions. But there is no way she is going to do anything that will help Abnegation."

Tris nods, her expression grave. Her grim acceptance makes me feel guilty despite myself; I feel as if I am not doing enough. I should do more, help her in some way – she has so much on her shoulders.

I look at Tris as the train rushes on the tracks, rumbling and screeching. The wind plays with her hair, strands of it twirling out of her ponytail. Her gray-blue eyes, so sharp and almost luminescent in their brilliance, are fixed at the distance. Just staring at her, I feel I could do this all day, every day, studying the slight downward curve of her lips, the curve of her nose, her thin, long eyelashes fluttering over her blue eyes, her sharp edges and subtle curves. Looking away, I think of the first time I saw her, looking so fragile as she fell on the net, as if the very impact would shatter her. But there was fire in her eyes; she had laughed as if she was finally home. Because she _was_ home.

It is in times like this that I feel insecurity set in, when I think about Tris' secret, her past. Why is she even with me? Is it because she loved the person that I had been in her past life, and this is merely an extension of those feelings? I know she would never have had so strong feelings for me if she didn't know me already. Am I enough for her? I cannot yet decide if I love her, the time I have known her is still too less, and her account of our relationship from her past life so brief and story-like… will she wait? Am I doing this right? What if she decides that I am not enough, that _this_ is not enough? It's such a peculiar situation – that my biggest competitor is _myself_ , a Tobias Eaton of another world, me but still not me. That man gave her all her firsts – her first kiss, her first love, and God knows how much more. Is it possible to be jealous of oneself? Because often, I am; I am afraid that I am not adequate for her, still so inexperienced at romance, when she has already had a proper relationship. It is also disconcerting how much she knows about me. While on one hand it is relieving that I don't have to go through the trouble of telling her my secrets, something I have never been good at, at some level I also feel powerless, feeling like those things have been wrested away from me. But of course, I can't, and don't, blame Tris for that; circumstances revealed things to her. I wonder how it was for her to know me little by little, to pull out each piece of me. I wonder how her first relationship had been, both of us inexperienced, nervous, both from Abnegation. I try to imagine it, but don't quite manage it.

I am broken out of my train of thoughts by the feeling of Tris' searing gaze on me. I turn towards her to find her staring at me with such intensity that promptly throws my insecurities out of the window for the while.

"What?" I say quietly, heat creeping up in a slow trail up my neck. Her eyes are bright with an emotion I cannot place.

"Nothing." Her cheeks flush a lovely shade of pink. The blush adds color to her pale skin. Beautiful.

She keeps staring at me, however, and the tenderness of her gaze almost pains me in its foreignness; no one else has ever looked at me with so much love. I have grown up with the knowledge that I cannot be loved, that my father knew me to be worthless, useless, that my own mother chose another man over me, leaving me in pain and misery. Now having this girl, this person who is like no one I have ever known, stare at me like this, making me feel desirable, _special_ , feels like a moment from a beautiful dream, about to shatter sooner or later. As her eyes never once leave me, a slow, mischievous smile turns the corners of Tris' lips upwards.

"There's something I have been wanting to do with you for a while," she says softly.

I raise an eyebrow. What is she thinking?

"Yeah? And what might that be?" Even as I say that, I can't help think of the things _I_ would like to do with _her,_ some of them not very innocent. A smile tugs at my lips. I feel like a completely different man around her.

"Trust me?" Tris asks. _With my life._ I nod at her, trying to figure out what might be going on in her mind. Tris gets up, walking over to the door of the carriage, and grabs hold of the handle with her left hand, extending her right hand to me. I don't understand her intentions at first, but then her position suddenly causes the memory of me leaning out of the train to flash in my mind, and I smile broadly as I guess what she wants. I walk over to her, extending my hand to her with some nervousness, but feeling bold, let my arm wrap around her slim waist instead of holding her hand. Tris' face turns red as she smiles, her hand reaching for my hip in return. I suppress a shiver at the sensation and our proximity. I grab the handle of the door with my free hand. We are so close together, her breathing resonates in my body.

Tris grins at me, her face alight with joy and excitement, and as she nods, we lean out together, our feet firmly planted on the floor, our upper bodies out in the wind. I feel just as free and light as I did when I did this alone, and even better, with Tris so close to me. The city passes before us, and at this moment, I easily lose all my worries, all my insecurities, everything. It's just me and Tris now.

"I've been thinking of this ever since we went out to the fence!" Tris shouts over the howl of the wind.

"I love your thinking!" I remark, laughing. This is amazing. The wind causes my hair to tickle my forehead, and through the corner of my eyes I see Tris' hair flow out in golden strings. I turn my head to look at her properly. Her face is flushed, practically glowing, her gray-blue eyes sparkling as she smiles at me. She looks so carefree, her face devoid of the stress that she has been going through all this time. Looking at her, I feel my boldness reaching a totally new height, the sparks of desire coursing through me giving way to a little plan, which, some other time, would have caused me to be worried about my sanity. It doesn't faze me in the least now.

"Do _you_ trust me?" I ask Tris.

"You know I do," she replies with a smile, making me smile wider.

"Okay, then," I say, my heart thumping in excitement. This is stupid. Dangerous. But unlike how I am most of the time, it only makes me wants to do this more. Only with Tris. Only _for_ Tris.

Taking a deep breath, I tighten my grip around Tris' waist, and give a sudden tug, causing, as I had expected, Tris' grip on the door handle to falter. Panicked, she screams, until I swing her right into my chest. With a shuddering gasp, Tris throws both her arms around my neck, her legs locked with mine, even as I hold her more securely. I would usually feel a wave of panic and discomfort at another body pressed so close to me, but not with Tris. If anything, now I feel my heart thumping wildly with exhilaration and a desire to press her even closer to me. I want her. All of her. It is actually terrifying how strongly I feel for her, but I welcome this terror. I welcome the desire.

I can feel Tris' quick heartbeat against my chest, and for some time I am worried that my action was wrong, that I scared her too much, but then she throws back her head and laughs, her hair rippling in the wind, and all my worries are immediately washed away. Her laughter is so sweet and infectious, I join her, lowering my head to capture her laughing mouth. She smiles into the kiss. I pull her even closer to me. This is incredible. This is perfect.

"You, Mr. Eaton, sure know how to charm a woman," Tris whispers, looking more beautiful than ever. My heart swells, and I kiss her again.

"There is only one woman I want to charm, Miss Prior," I whisper near her cheek, my lashes touching her skin, and this closeness to her is something I would want to freeze and hold onto me forever. "Glad to know that it's working on her."

I kiss her once more, or she kisses me; anyhow, what matters is that our lips are joined, gliding, caressing, and this is all I can ask for. At the moment, with the wind whistling around me and the adrenaline and the train's rumbling, and with Tris so close to me, completely mine, I am not Four, I am not Tobias; I am not blemished and broken. With Tris at my side, I am a new man, her lips and her breath and her beautiful startling eyes and her love making me whole. At this moment, I am perfect.

This could be my salvation. This could be my heaven.

-o0o-

We seem to reach Dauntless far too soon for my liking. As the building from which the initiates are made to jump shows up in the distance, its glass wall glittering in the sunlight, Tris and I jump off.

"There are still ten minutes to when the simulations are supposed to begin," I say, looking at my watch. "I don't think my absence will be noticed. I'll go first; you start walking after a minute or so, once I am out of sight." I don't want to leave Tris, but being seen around together is not an option unless we want to give ourselves away.

I think I see the reluctance I feel in Tris' eyes too, but she nods. I feel her gaze on me, unwavering, as I walk away from her. Then I begin descending the stairway to the Pit, and her presence disappears.

I could go off to my apartment or the control room, my job for the time over, but I feel a continuous itch under my skin, a dull panic and wariness keeping my nerves on end. I look around as I walk down the hallways and into the Pit, trying to spot Eric. His absence continues to bother me; I want to make sure that Tris doesn't encounter him. If we can hold up Eric from seeing Tris long enough, perhaps today's incident will slip from his mind; I doubt it though. Despite being a Dauntless by faction, Eric's mind still works like an Erudite, organized, calculated. But at least if we can get enough time, we can think up a suitable lie.

But as much as I try, I can't find Eric anywhere. When I don't see Eric in the underground quarters, I circle back towards the Pire, slowly climbing up the curved path. I saw neither Eric nor Tris all this time. I hope that this is just a coincidence, that Tris is safe in her dormitory and Eric simply somewhere around.

I almost pass the room on the first floor of the Pire, situated right by the road; I would have, had I not heard two voices – one male and one female, sounding faintly through the door. I shift closer to the door, and freeze. The voices distinctly belong to Eric and Tris.

I quickly push the door open and enter the room, only to walk on a rather strange sight. Tris is standing facing Eric, appearing on the verge of tears. Eric looks confused and mildly amused at the same time. As soon as Tris notices me, she raises a shaking hand to point at me and whispers, "Him."

I blink. _What?_

Then Eric bursts out laughing, confusing me even further. "Isn't he a little too old for you, Tris?" he says, his expression melting into a rather scornful smile. The holes through which his metal rings hang stretch out as he grins. I look at Tris, silently asking her questions while trying to figure out the situation myself.

"So, Four," Eric says, looking at me, "is it true that you are being ambushed for kisses by initiates?"

For a fraction of a second, I am more confused than ever at the situation, and then, suddenly, it becomes clear to me. I have to give it to her, Tris is very clever. She tackled the situation just as I would have liked her to. I quickly put on my most detached, scornful, almost cruel mask.

"Are you talking about her?" I say dismissively, jerking my chin upward proudly. "Yes, she tried to kiss me at breakfast. And I rejected her, and she went running off like a five-year-old. There's really nothing to blame her for but stupidity."

"She seemed hurt enough to run off to her mommy," Eric says, smirking. He is thoroughly amused by Tris' embarrassment. And adequately ignorant of the truth, I hope. "You shouldn't break little girls' hearts like that."

"Is that so?" I look at Tris with a derisive curl to my lips. "God, Stiff, you are even stupider than I thought." For a moment, I think I see hurt flash in her eyes, and I am immediately worried that I have taken this act too far. But I have to do this to completely convince Eric.

Tris breaks my gaze, looking at the floor, and wipes her cheeks against her sleeve, sniffling. She is a good actor. "Can I go now?"

"Fine," Eric says, "but you are not allowed to leave the compound without supervision again, you hear me?" He turns toward me. "And _you..._ had better make sure none of the transfers leave this compound again. And that none of the others try to kiss you."

 _As if I would let them_. I roll my eyes. "Fine."

I let Tris leave first, her shoulders slumped and her pace slow, and then after a curt nod and a smirk from Eric, I leave. I take a short cut so that I reach the hallway near the testing room before Tris. I smile when I watch her walking towards me.

"That was a very good ploy," I tell her, cupping her face with my hands. I want to convince her that everything that I said in that room was only an act. "Eric doesn't seem to have suspected anything."

Thankfully, Tris doesn't seem to hold it against me. She smiles. "The idea's yours, actually," she says. "I just borrowed it in time of need." I am puzzled for a while, before understanding – it must be the _other_ Tobias Eaton, the me Tris loved in her previous life. I nod, still grappling with the idea.

"Do you think I am too old for you?" I ask nervously as we walk together. Eric's words added another barb in my already large collection of insecurities about my relationship with Tris. _Don't be ridiculous. She wouldn't be with you in the first place if she thought so._ But I can't shake the sense of uncertainty off.

"Two years isn't an insurmountable gap," Tris says, grinning, her smile mischievous, as if she were laughing at some private joke. Her words lift a heavy weight from my shoulders, and a relieved laugh burst out from me. I put my arm around her.

"I agree completely."

-o0o-

Tris resurfaces from her simulation, spluttering and gasping, as if she had almost drowned, her cheeks wet. She meets my eyes hesitatingly as I stare down at her. She looks almost ashamed.

"I know the simulation isn't real," she says quietly, defensively.

"You don't have to explain it to me," I tell her. "I know it is difficult for you." My words don't seem to do much to comfort her; she nods and keeps staring at the floor.

I don't know what I would feel had I been in her place, but I certainly don't think that her reaction to her simulation should be like this. Today's fear was a new one – one where our city burned, the sky blood red, people groaning and crying as they succumbed to their deaths. Jeanine advocated the end of the Divergent, while another man, who I can only assume was David, talked about how the 'genetically damaged' were the cause of all the problems. A fear like no other I have ever seen. It can never be.

"Your collection of fears is like nothing I have ever seen," I say, holding her hand as she stands up. She is pale, shadows under her eyes, quite different from the carefree young woman I had seen early this morning. "You could have had any fear, but you see your loved ones dying, your city burning away. And yet you say that you are not selfless, that you are not brave."

A half-smile stays on my lips as I look at her, but my mind is plagued with worries. My own discoveries and Tris' past meld together to form a complete mesh of darkness, threatening to swallow me.

"You make too much of it," Tris says with a hesitant smile. "My fears changed because I am from the future."

"And you are from the future because you were selfless enough to come back," I counter.

"No, I was selfish. Selfish because I couldn't bear to get away from you," she argues with mulish stubbornness. I sigh. We will never get to the end of this argument.

"Tris..." I kiss her lightly. "I can still continue with this argument, but I won't, for now."

"Good," she whispers, her darkened eyes suddenly glinting with coy invitation, "because I am sure your lips can be put to better use."

I laugh, my mood effectively lightened for the while, and kiss her again, more deeply. "You are such a tease," I murmur without breaking the kiss.

"But you love it," she teases.

"Of course." I smile. "What's not to love?"

What, indeed?

-o0o-

I spend dinner time trying to organize my thoughts about the upcoming events and how much we have done till now. The answer I come to, unfortunately but unsurprisingly, is not much. I glance at the people laughing and joking around near me, and shudder as I think of them as blank-faced, sleep-walking soldiers, killing the innocent without a conscience. My thoughts drift to several avenues, from our slow progress at defeating the Erudite's purpose, to my lingering uncertainties about my relationship with Tris. None of these trains of thought are comforting in the least. Beside me, Shauna picks at her dinner moodily, occasionally glancing at me curiously but not breaking the silence. In the dull roar of the usual Dauntless chatter, we seem to be anomalies.

When we're done, we leave the dining hall together, and Zeke calls out to us from across the Pit.

"Hey!" he says. He's spinning a roll of tape around his finger. "Want to go punch something?"

"Yes," Shauna and I say in unison. Seems like we both need to let off steam tonight.

We walk toward the training room, Shauna updating Zeke on her week at the fence — "Two days ago the idiot I was on patrol with started freaking out, swearing he saw something out there…Turns out it was a _plastic bag_ "— and Zeke sliding his arm across her shoulders. I run my fingers over my knuckles and try not to get in their way.

When we get closer to the training room, I think I hear voices inside. Frowning, I push the door open with my foot. Standing inside are Lynn, Uriah, Marlene, and . . . Tris. Despite being used to seeing her all too often around and knowing her to be friends with Uriah and company, the collision of worlds startles me a little.

Uriah is firing at a target with one of the plastic pellet guns the Dauntless keep around for fun—I know for a fact that he doesn't own it, so this one must be Zeke's—and Marlene is chewing on something. She grins at me and waves when I walk in.

"I thought I heard something in here," I explain our sudden entry to both parties.

"Turns out it's my idiot brother," says Zeke. "You're not supposed to be in here after hours. Careful, or Four will tell Eric, and then you'll be as good as scalped."

"You wouldn't tell Eric," Lynn says suspiciously.

"No, I wouldn't," I assure her. The others start down the hallway, our original plan of spending time in the training room forgotten once Uriah and Zeke start bickering and Shauna and Marlene share the rest of a muffin. As Tris turns to follow them, I place a hand between her shoulder blades, marvelling for the umpteenth time how my hand seems to fit perfectly in place.

"Wait a second," I say, trying for a smile. For some reason, even her presence makes that difficult for me now.

Tris smiles a little. "I was hoping you'd say that."

I shut the door of the training room, allowing us some privacy.

"I hope you wouldn't be averse to staying around a little more," I say.

"I was going to delay going to the dorm anyway," Tris replies with a shrug. "I don't want to face my fellow transfers now."

I had been aware of the anxiety in the air for a while now, but I had thought it was only me; now I realize that it isn't quite so. I'd noticed tension in the training room when I posted the rankings earlier this evening—I never thought, when I was tallying up the points for the rankings, that maybe I should mark Tris down for her protection. All I had felt for her then was pride. But as much as it would have been an insult to her skill in the simulations to put her any lower on the list, it could have kept her safe. I saw what happened in the first stage. Maybe it would have been wiser to keep her safe; maybe she would have preferred the insult to the growing rift between her and her fellow transfers. But even though she's pale and exhausted, and there are little cuts around each of her nail beds, and a wavering look in her eyes, I know that's not the case. This girl would never want to be tucked safely in the middle of the pack, never. Everything she has done so far – from hanging over the chasm to taking knives to her arm and shoulder, screams that out.

"You belong here, you know that?" I say impulsively. "It's going to be over soon, so just hold on, okay?"

"I know, Tobias," she smiles a little. "I wouldn't have made this choice again if I hadn't."

Somehow, her harmless words hit me like a slap to my face. They lay bare the true extent of what she has been through, goading me with the implication that I can do nothing for her, that I am _incapable_ of doing anything for her. Despite anything and everything I try, she will never be on the same step as me. She is more experienced at everything. Why does she even want me? Why would she need me at all?

"Right," I say with some amount of bitterness. "Sometimes I forget that you are not new to this. That we won't ever be on the same page." Will I ever be equal to her? Our disparities lie at so many levels, starting with the fact that my secrets aren't my own anymore, while she still stays mysterious to me.

Tris face falls. "Oh, Tobias, I'm sorry! That wasn't how I meant it." She shifts closer to touch my face. "I could never be better than you. Whatever the situation may be. We are always on the same page, always will be. I am sorry to have brought all this on you, but you know..."

I suddenly realize how terrible my words must have sounded, how stupidly and selfishly I had been acting. "No, I am sorry," I say with a sigh. "I wasn't thinking. It's just... sometimes it's a lot to take, you know? Knowing what is to come and worrying that if you can't change it..." I trail off uncertainly. This is the first time I am admitting my problems regarding her situation to her.

"I know," Tris murmurs, her eyes sad, leaning forward till our foreheads touch. "I am sorry; I never wanted to drag you into this mess."

I shake my head, wishing I could take my earlier words back. "I would never want you to be in this alone."

We sit there quietly for a while, sharing the same air, looking into each other's eyes. There is a strange peace in the gesture, in this quiet and in the light tickling of Tris' breath on my skin; it dulls my anxiety and tension even if it isn't enough to wipe them off completely.

"You up for some target practice?" I offer suddenly, eager to do _something_ , to rely on focus and muscle memory for a while instead letting my worries grow. I look at Tris challengingly. "Let's see who is better at this."

A mischievous grin blooms on her face. "You're on."

I prepare the guns as we do for target practice in initiation instead of the plastic pellets Uriah was using, and hand a gun to Tris.

"At three?" I look at her. She nods.

"One, two, three!" We both shoot. Holes appear at the center of both of our targets. I smile at her, feeling pride warm my heart. "You are good, Prior," I remark.

We shoot off several rounds. In the end, after ten shots, I have managed to hit center every time. Tris has missed only twice. I acknowledge her excellence as she lowers her gun with a rueful smile.

"I won!" I laugh childishly, feeling much lighter than I was when I entered this room. "But you were amazing."

"What can I say?" Tris grins, her eyes bright. "My instructor is an amazing person."

With that, she places her gun on the table, murmurs a thanks to me, presses a kiss to my cheek and slips out of the training room. And I am left standing there with a stupid grin on my face.


	14. Saves and Misses

**New chapter! Thank you to all my readers for reviewing, favoriting and following. Love you all!**

 **Several parts of this chapter, as you might recognize, have been taken verbatim from Four: The Traitor, which I very obviously don't own.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 14: Saves and Misses**_

One might think that after spending part of the evening with Tris, my mind would be calm enough to permit me some sleep, but it seems that my insomnia is getting the better of me. I try to sleep for the better part of an hour, twisting under the covers to find a comfortable position. But it seems like someone has replaced my mattress with a bag of rocks. Or maybe it's just that my mind is too busy for sleep.

Eventually I give up, putting on my shoes and jacket and walking to the Pire, the way I do every time I can't sleep. I think about running the fear landscape program again, but I didn't think to replenish my supply of simulation serum this afternoon, and it would be a hassle to get some now. Instead I walk to the control room, where Gus greets me with a grunt and the other two on staff don't even notice me come in.

I don't try to go through Max's files again — I already know everything I need to know, and which is more than what Max's data could show me. The confrontation and discussions with Tris put my dilemma regarding my course of action to rest — I will try to stop the attack to the best of my abilities; I've taken the path and there is no turning back from it now. The unfortunate fact is that time is running out, and pessimistic though I might seem, in my opinion, the little progress we have made is certainly not enough. As for myself, I have done nothing at all. It was all Tris. Disgusting. Pathetic.

For some reason, though unsurprisingly, Tris' face comes to mind as I pull up the feed cycle, her open, kind smile and her stern, flashing eyes.

I scroll through the footage, looking over the city streets and then returning to the Dauntless compound. Most of the hallways are so dark, I couldn't see anything even if it was there. In my headphones, I hear only the rush of water in the chasm or the whistle of wind through the alleys. I sigh, leaning my head into my hand, and watch the changing images, one after another, and let them lull me into something like sleep.

"Go to bed, Four," Gus says from across the room.

I jerk awake, and nod. If I'm not actually looking at the footage it's not a good idea for me to be in the control room. I log out of my account and walk down the hallway to the elevator, blinking myself awake.

As I walk across the lobby, I hear a scream coming from below, coming from the Pit. It's not a good-natured Dauntless shout, or the shriek of someone who is scared but delighted, or anything but the particular tone, the particular pitch of terror. Familiar, yet so foreign.

Small rocks scatter behind me as I run down to the bottom of the Pit, my breathing fast and heavy, but even. I don't care who it is or what is happening, I just need to be there. My instincts take over.

Three tall, dark-clothed people stand near the railing below. They are crowded around a fourth, smaller target, and even though I can't see much about them, I know a fight when I see one. Or, I would call it a fight, if it wasn't three against one.

Two of the attackers seem to have fallen back a little, the third one standing close to the victim, holding him or her against the junction of the wall and the rail that runs around the chasm. One of them wheels around, sees me, and sprints in the other direction. When I get closer to them, I see that the other one is now holding the victim against the railing, and I shout, "Hey!"

I see her hair, blond, and I can hardly see anything else. And with that goes my last coherent thought. I collide with one of the attackers—Drew, I can tell by the color of his hair, orange-red—and slam him into the chasm barrier. I hit him once, twice, three times in the face, and he collapses to the ground, and then I'm kicking him and I can't think, can't think at all. All I can see in my mind's eye is the golden hair, pale against the dim light. Tris. They got Tris. The realization sends my intelligence down to oblivion. There is just violence in me now. Dark, swirling, dangerous. More. More. More. I can't stop. I can't think. Everything I see is red, hazy.

"Tobias. Tobias, stop!" Her voice is quiet, ragged, and still firm, authoritative. Nothing could have reached me in this demonic state, but her voice does, and I know then that it is the only thing that could have. Her frail whisper of my name brings me knowledge of who I am, brings me back to sanity. I stop hitting, stop moving mid-kick and turn. She is on the floor, her back pressed against the thin metal railing. She looks battered. I look down at Drew. He is not moving, a lot of blood on his face. I could have killed him with how I was going. I would have, had Tris not stopped me. The other one, the last attacker, is gone.

I focus on Tris, running to her side immediately. Up close, she looks even worse for wear. There is a large, dark bruise on her temple, a stark contrast to her pale face. Her breathing is ragged.

"Tris," I say, helping her up. "How — how are you feeling?"

"'M fine," she mumbles, most obviously a lie, but I don't waste time arguing. I put my arm around her for support.

"We need to get you somewhere to rest," I say. "Can you walk?"

Tris nods jerkily, standing unsteadily even with my support, and I slap myself mentally as I realize how stupid and insensitive my question was.

"On second thoughts, I don't know why I asked. I'd rather not let you," I amend, picking her up carefully so as to not hurt her any more. Tris looks like she is about to protest, but when I pull her closer to me, she simply puts her arms round my neck, sighing a little. She presses her face to my shoulder, twisting her fingers into my shirt.

Drew is on the ground, collapsed. I hear him groan as I carry Tris away—not to the infirmary, where the others who went after her would think to look for her, but to my apartment, in its lonely, removed corridor. Her weight is next to nothing in my arms. She is light, too light. As I walk towards my apartment, the warmth of Tris' body mingling with mine through our clothes, I can't help think of her, pressed against the railing. So close. If I had arrived even a little later... The underground river's roar rings in my ears. I let my eyes skim over her, holding her close – the damage doesn't seem very serious. Her heartbeat is fast but strong, steady, her breathing soft and fluttering but normal. She is safe. But only just. The worry nags at me as the thoughts of Tris' tale meld in with today's incident – is this new to her? Was she unprepared for this attack? She evidently was, and yet, her ranking first is something I won't attribute to her past experience. Her divergence is enough to give her an advantage over the rest, along with her resilience. And as she had said earlier this evening, her high rank and her animosity with her fellow initiates was no surprise to her. Then how –

"I think you want to say something," Tris' quiet voice snaps me out of my reverie.

"You can read me too well, can't you?" I say with mild amusement, yet to get used to the fact that after maintaining my mask perfectly all this time, I finally have found someone who is perceptive enough to see me to my core. My smile drops as I turn my attention to the question I am about to pose. "Did you know this was going to happen?"

Her reaction is silent but immediate. I feel her stiffen. Her eyes, which had never once left mine since I picked her up, suddenly seem very fascinated at a spot on my shirt. She remains silent.

It is a loud enough answer to me. I feel like someone rammed me face-first into a brick wall.

"You _did_?" I can hear the anger and incredulity in my voice. What was she thinking? She knew they would do this to her, and yet… "I can't believe this, Tris! You knew they would try to kill you, and you just walked into their trap?"

"I knew they would try to kill me," she retorts with a touch of defiance in her voice. "They had the last time around, just this way. Peter tried to hurt Edward too, remember? And he would have, too, if I hadn't stopped him. I had two choices today — walk into their trap knowing what they'd try, and protect myself; or be ambushed and killed some other way."

So one of the remaining two was Peter. No surprises here. I should have guessed, really.

"But you nearly died!" I argue, still horrified at how close to her death Tris voluntarily went. "You would have, if I hadn't heard you in time."

"Yes," Tris sighs, deflating. "I was prepared for what was coming, but I got distracted."

"You got distracted," I say slowly, a trickle of cold running down my spine. It's dread, I realize. And disappointment. I can't believe Tris could be so callous when her life was on line. "First you knowingly walk into a trap, and then you afford to _get distracted_. How did that happen, pray tell?" My voice is harsh and rather unforgiving, more than is necessary perhaps, but I can't help it. I came so close to losing her, and all because… she was _distracted_?

Tris' mouth turns downwards at my words. "Not now," she says evasively. "I'll tell you when we get to your apartment." I drop the subject; this must mean that it was at least something serious.

"Why didn't you tell me about this earlier?" I ask her, sighing, letting go of my vexation. I move her a little so she can be more comfortable.

"You couldn't have done anything," Tris says, her voice quiet but firm. "Besides, I didn't want you to. I have to fight my own battles, Tobias. I can't let you deal with everything for me."

I shake my head, but inside, I feel a shot of warmth, of pride for her. "You are one stubborn woman, Tris Prior," I remark, smiling to myself.

Tris smiles. "So I have been told."

I pull her closer. "By none other than me, I bet."

Once I reach my apartment, I move to place Tris on my bed. But as soon as her posture shifts from a prostrate to a sitting one, a green tinge comes to her paling cheeks, and she rushes to the bathroom. I hurry after her, alarmed, in time to see her throwing up into the toilet. I hold her long hair back, rubbing her back a little, frowning. Could I have underestimated the seriousness of her condition? Perhaps she has a concussion… I help her stand up once she is done and is leaning back, gasping.

"We should take you to the infirmary," I tell Tris. "This seems bad."

"No, no, I'm okay," she mumbles stubbornly as she moves to the sink, splashing water on her face. I sigh a little. Of course.

"I have a spare toothbrush," I offer, fishing it out and offering it to her.

"Thanks," Tris murmurs with gratitude and a little embarrassment on her face. "Do you mind if I take a shower?"

"No problem," I say. "Go ahead." It is then, looking at her bruised, beaten-up figure and her unsteady feet that I feel uncertain. Can she do it her own? What if she hurts herself further? But then, the only other option is me… Despite the situation, I can't stop my thoughts from travelling down dangerous avenues. "I —" Heat rushes up to my cheeks. "You sure you can manage it on your own?" I manage to say nonetheless.

Tris' face turns bright red as she realizes the implications of my offer. God, I hope I didn't go far, too forward. "I'll be fine," Tris answers quietly. I may be mistaken, but I think I observe a trace of longing in her gaze before she lowers it.

I nod, part relieved and part disappointed at her refusal. "I'll put Drew in the infirmary," I say. "I'll be back in a minute." Tris wasn't too badly injured, but Drew might be. With one last look at Tris, I walk out.

My hands shake slightly as I walk, from which emotion I cannot tell – self-loathing or fear at what I had done. Neither is very different from the other, anyway. I don't even know how many times I hit him before she finally said my name and woke me up. The rest of my body starts to shake, too, the lack of Tris' presence suddenly seeming to leave me naked and vulnerable to my demons. On the way, I try to replay the last few minutes in my mind, try to recall what I punched and when and how hard, but the whole thing is lost to a dizzy fit of anger. _I wonder if this is what it was like for him,_ I think, remembering the wild, frantic look in Marcus's eyes every time he got angry. Not being able to think. Not being rational. Not being human. I hate that I might have inherited my poorly managed temper from him.

When I reach the railing, Drew is still there, lying in a strange, crumpled position on the ground. I pull his arm across my shoulders and half lift, half drag him to the infirmary. The place is bathed in darkness, both our nurses evidently asleep. I roughly deposit Drew on one of the beds. I wonder if I should call up Helena or Jane immediately. The cruel part of me urges me to leave him be to be discovered in the morning, telling me that he deserves it, but I have beat him enough. With some reluctance, I call a tired and ruffled Helena out.

"Goodness, Four," Helena breathes when she sees Drew, all sleep leaving her countenance. "This is – this is – what the hell."

I refuse to answer.

I am about to leave when I notice that Drew is awake, although that is barely discernible through his swollen, puffed eyelids. I stop to ask him a few questions before leaving. His answers are hardly coherent, but he seems very adamant on convincing me that he and his friends were simply trying to scare Tris. Right. And I am best friends with Eric.

I return to my apartment to find Tris stepping out of the bathroom. Her skin is very red, like she has worked hard on scrubbing every inch raw. I guide her to my bed, covering her with my quilt once she lies down, thankfully without any fuss. I kiss her lightly on the forehead, watching with some amount of contentment as a smile blooms on her face.

"Be right back," I say, "I'll just clean up," and walk to the bathroom to wash the blood from my hands—a few of my knuckles are split, cut from the impact with Drew's face. If Drew was there, the other attacker had to be Peter, but who was the third? I know that Tris knows – I could simply ask her, but I think about it anyway. Not Molly—the shape was too tall, too big. In fact, there's only one initiate that size.

Al.

The conclusion brings a leaden weight in the pit of my stomach, but I feel no surprise; Dauntless initiation brings out the worst in everyone.

I check my reflection, almost worried that I'm going to see little pieces of Marcus staring back at me there. There's a cut at the corner of my mouth, and a small bruise on my forehead—did Drew hit me back at some point? It doesn't matter. My lapse in memory doesn't matter, even though it is clearly worrying. What matters is that Tris is breathing. That she is safe, and awake.

I keep my hands under the cool water until it runs clear, then dry them on the towel, stepping out of the bathroom to sit down on the bed near Tris.

"How's Drew?" Tris asks.

"He'll live," I spit. "In what condition I cannot say." I don't want to say it this way; even though I am aware that there isn't much of me that she doesn't know, I don't want her to see this cruel side of me, the side that derives savage pleasure from Drew's pain. I shouldn't _have_ this side.

"Good," Tris says fiercely, and I recall that she has this side too; I have seen how she beat Molly unconscious. Maybe I was really correct about this part – we are really similar.

"He claimed they were just trying to scare you," I tell her. "At least, I think that's what he was trying to say."

Tris nods, her expression turning thoughtful. "I heard Jeanine and Eric talking," she says. "That's what distracted me. I was hoping I could get some information."

It makes my head snap up. Well, I am glad that her cause of distraction was valid enough. "What did you hear?" I ask curiously.

"Only Eric talking about hunting the Divergent," she says with a disheartened shrug. "I don't think he knows anything about this file the Abnegation are going to release."

"I don't think so either," I say. For a long time, I have kept a close observation on Eric and Max; Eric, for all his intelligence, has been little more than Jeanine's protégé, a puppet of sorts – Erudite's own little way to conquer Dauntless. "I suppose that issue is just between Max and Jeanine." Tris hums noncommittally. I touch my hand to her cheek, careful not to press against any of her still-forming bruises. I run my thumb over her cheekbone. Her skin is warm.

I don't have the right word for how she looks, but even now, with parts of her face swollen and discolored, with cuts and bruises more numerous than the patches pale white skin, there's something striking about her, something I haven't seen before. There is a strange fire in her eyes, which says that it will take much, much more than this to defeat her. Her eyes glow with barely suppressed defiance and anger, although I doubt if she is aware of it.

"I know what you want to do," I say.

It takes her off guard. "What?"

"You're going to want to march into breakfast tomorrow and show your attackers they had no effect on you," I conjecture, able to imagine it all too well – her pride, her strength. I would have liked to do the same, except that I would probably go and pick up another fight and beat them till they fell down. But I wouldn't do either, logically. I advise the same way to Tris. "But you should let that bruise on your cheek show, and keep your head down."

She frowns. "I don't think I can do that," she says, her head lowering.

"You have to," I insist. It is the only way for her to stay safe. I want her to go straight ahead and ruin them, destroy them completely, and the savagery of this thought is terrifying, but that is not a logical means; it is blind revenge, and what matters most for the time being is for Tris to live and make it through initiation.

"I have already done it once, Tobias," Tris says. "The first time around, you made me do it. Relying on Will and Christina. Acting weak."

Right. I should have known that if the same situation arose in her past life, _that_ Tobias Eaton would have suggested the same course of action. We are, after all the same person, though the one thing that might create any possible difference between that man and me is Tris. How ironic.

"Then you should know that it is effective," I say, trying to convince her.

"Yes, it is," she nods. "But twice... I can't do it, Tobias. I just can't."

Her pride stops her from lowering her head. I can imagine how humiliating an experience it would be for her, to act cowed in front of Peter twice. To apparently accept defeat twice. Even though no one else knows it. But survival has to be more important to her than her pride. It is to me. "I don't want to say this," I sigh, "but I feel like I have to. It is more important for you to be safe than right, for the time being. Understand?"

Tris looks down and nods. "We'll talk about this in the morning," she murmurs.

I frown. That sounds too much like an attempt at evading this. "Tris —"

"I understood you, Tobias," Tris says, her voice firm, reminding me that she is by no means inexperienced at facing dangerous situations. "I'll see what I do about it. Now come here." She shifts aside to allow me to lie down beside her. I pause for some time, wondering if I should let her have the bed to herself and sleep on the floor, if I should continue the argument which Tris so abruptly but efficiently closed, while part of me wants to simply take her up on her offer and hold her close to me. Finally, I give in to my desire, slipping in next to her. I brush loose strands of hair from her face, and accidentally touch one of bruises. I immediately feel bad as Tris suppresses a wince.

"You can let yourself be in pain," I tell her softly. "It's just me here." I don't want her to hide her weaknesses from me; I am just as vulnerable as her.

Tris doesn't reply, instead taking my hand to look at my red knuckles.

"Your hands..." she says, and it's a ridiculous thing to say, so stupid, to be worried about my _hands_ when she was pushed against the railing of the chasm by her throat. It's just the sort of stupid, selfless thing she would say.

"Are none of your concern," I say irritably, only to see her roll her eyes a little. She gently presses her lips to my knuckles, and then touches the corner of my lip, which bleeds. I never thought you could feel a touch this way, like a jolt of energy, but it always does with Tris. Her fingers are soft, curious.

"Seriously, Tris, I am all right," I say.

"Undoubtedly," she whispers, and her breath on my face sends tingles everywhere in my body. "You are as tough as nails." I almost smile at her use of the Dauntless phrase for me. "Now shh..."

She shifts closer to me, and starts pressing her lips to all the little places where I've been hurt. Every touch of her soft, moist lips sends sparks down my skin, like the crackling of electricity. I want to be closer to her, even closer; I want all of her. I want her so much I can't even believe the intensity of this longing. A groan escapes my lips, but not of pain.

"Oh, Tris," I murmur, holding her face in my hands and kissing her, my thoughts almost dissolving in my desire but still being careful to not hurt her. "What would I do without you?"

I really have no idea. I had built myself up to live with barriers, to not trust anyone, but now with Tris, I can't imagine going back to how things were once. It's been weeks, only weeks, and yet I have changed so much. Irrevocably.

-o0o-

Happily for me, Tris seems well-rested and considerably better in the morning. She even dares joke about her condition when I ask her. I inspect her carefully, touching her wounds lightly to check. She visibly bites back a groan when I touch her side. She is trying to make light of her wounds. My conscience pricks; am I treating her too harshly? But I don't know any other way, I never have.

"I guess some other boy would be gentler and more understanding about this," I say by way of an apology, the sense of my inadequacy in this relationship leering at me yet again. "I'm... sorry if I am inadequate. I continually struggle with kindness."

But Tris only smiles and shakes her head. Her smile is kind and tender. "No one is perfect," she says. "And I wouldn't like you to change for all the world." She runs her index finger along my jawline. Her touch is soothing and arousing at the same time, and I am tempted to chase it when she pulls away. "Some other boy would think that I'm just a weak little girl," she says softly. "Some other boy wouldn't tell me to _pretend_ vulnerability."

I laugh a little. What's the big deal in that? "I only say the truth," I say. "Others are fools not to notice how strong you are."

"One of the many reasons I love you," Tris says softly, prompting my heartbeat to speed up a little. I would never be able of get used to what this girl does to me.

I approach Eric in the breakfast line, standing behind him with my tray as he uses a long-handled spoon to scoop scrambled eggs onto his plate.

"If I told you that one of the initiates was attacked last night by a few of the other initiates," I say, "would you even care?"

He pushes the eggs to one side of his plate, and lifts a shoulder. "I might care that their instructor doesn't seem to be able to control his initiates," Eric says as I pick up a bowl of cereal for myself. He eyes my split knuckles. "I might care that this hypothetical attack would be the second under that instructor's watch… whereas the Dauntless-borns don't seem to have this problem."

His words get under my skin. I don't show it. "Tensions between the transfers are naturally higher—they don't know each other, or this faction, and their backgrounds are wildly different," I say. "And you're their leader, shouldn't you be responsible for keeping them 'under control'?"

He sets a piece of toast next to his eggs with some tongs. Then he leans in close to my ear and says, "You're on thin ice, _Tobias_ ," he hisses. "Arguing with me in front of the others. 'Lost' simulation results. Your obvious bias towards, ah, _some_ initiates… a lingering love for your previous faction, perhaps?" I grit my teeth and force myself to stay silent. My split knuckles hurt as I clench my fists tightly. Eric continues his assault. "Even Max agrees now. If there was an attack, I don't think he would be too happy with you, and he might not object when I suggest that you be removed from your post."

I look at him levelly. "Then you'd be out an initiation instructor a week before the end of initiation."

"I can finish it out myself."

"I can only imagine what it would be like under your watch," I say, narrowing my eyes. "We wouldn't even need to make any cuts. They would all die or defect on their own."

"If you're not careful you won't have to imagine anything." He reaches the end of the food line and turns to me. "Competitive environments create tension, Four. It's natural for that tension to be released somehow." He smiles a little, stretching the skin between his piercings. "An attack would certainly show us, in a real-world situation, who the strong ones and the weak ones are, don't you think? We wouldn't have to rely on the test results at all, that way. We could make a more informed decision about who doesn't belong here. That is... if an attack were to happen."

The implication is clear: As the survivor of the attack, Tris would be viewed as weaker than the other initiates, and fodder for elimination. Eric wouldn't rush to the aid of the victim, but would rather advocate for her expulsion from Dauntless, as he did before he found out about Edward's decision to leave on his own accord. I don't want Tris to be forced into factionlessness.

"Right," I say lightly. My fists itch to connect with his face. "Well, it's a good thing no attacks have happened recently, then."

I dump some milk on top of my cereal and walk to my table. Eric won't do anything to Peter, Drew, or Al, and I can't do anything without stepping out of line and suffering the repercussions. Perhaps I don't even have to do anything; Peter is the least of the threats to Tris. I glance at her, observing with some satisfaction that she is sitting with her friends and doing a fair job of appearing meek and vulnerable. But I _want_ to. I want to make Peter pay for touching her. But maybe —maybe I don't have to do this alone. I look at the two people who have been my only friends. Yes, I don't have to.

I put my tray down between Zeke and Shauna and say, "I need your help with something."

Once our plan is made, I get up from my seat. "Transfers!" I call. Immediately, all conversation ceases.

"We're doing something different today," I say. "Follow me." They stand up.

"Where's Peter?" Molly says suddenly. "He went out, and he isn't here yet."

Conversation bubbles up again, people looking around, and I raise my hand in a gesture for silence. I look around, and indeed, there is no sign of the Candor boy. Strange. I had seen him talking with Molly only minutes ago.

"If he isn't here, we will have to move on without him," I say. "We don't have all day."

Just then, Peter enters the dining hall. I do a double take at his appearance. He is bruised and beaten-up, his attire rumpled. There is a reddish-purple bruise on his cheek and his nose crooked at an odd angle and covered in blood. His black dress has gray boot-prints over his chest, as if someone has repeatedly stomped over him. He walks with difficulty. His appearance is comparable to what I did to Drew. Several gasps are heard across the hall, and people start talking all at once. I stare at Peter, wondering who could possibly do this to him. Almost unconsciously, my gaze drifts to Tris. She is staring at Peter like everyone else, and I detect an expression of cruel pleasure flit across her face before she smoothens it into a blank mask. Well, it seems like I found out who the culprit is. Tris looks at me, and her wide-eyed innocence is almost genuine, but not quite. I suppress a chuckle. I feel equally proud and exasperated at her.

Not wishing to draw things out, I take the transfers to the fear room and explain its function. Once that is done and the initiates are dismissed for lunch, I pull Peter aside into the observation room next to the bare simulation room. It contains rows of chairs, ready for the initiates to sit in as they wait to take their final test. It also contains Zeke and Shauna.

"We need to have a chat," I say. I know that Peter has been given his due by Tris, but I want to give my own little share too.

Zeke lurches toward Peter, ignoring his injuries, slamming him against the concrete wall with alarming force. Peter cracks the back of his head, and winces. I would have too, if I were in his position. I don't care.

"Hey there," Zeke says, and Shauna moves toward them, spinning a knife on her palm.

"What is this?" Peter says. He doesn't even look a little afraid, even when Shauna catches the blade by the handle and touches the point to his cheek, creating a dimple. "Trying to scare me?" he sneers. I have to give it to him, he is keeping up his bravado well despite being beaten up.

"No," I say. "Trying to make a point. You're not the only one with friends who are willing to do some harm."

"I don't think initiation instructors are supposed to threaten initiates, do you?" Peter gives me a wide-eyed look, one I might mistake for innocence if I didn't know what he was really like. There is a bruise under his eye. "I'll have to ask Eric, though, just to be sure."

"I didn't threaten you," I say. "I'm not even touching you. And according to the footage of this room that's stored on the control room computers, we're not even in here right now."

Zeke grins like he can't help it. That was his idea. An idea which I have planned to implement against the Erudite, and he here.

"I'm the one who's threatening you," Shauna says, almost in a growl. "One more violent outburst and I'm going to teach you a lesson about justice." She presses the point of her dagger against the bruise on his cheek, and Peter winces. "A stab for a stab. A bruise for a bruise."

"Eric may not care if you go after your peers," Zeke says, "but we do, and there are a lot of Dauntless like us. People who don't think you should lay a hand on your fellow faction members. People who listen to gossip, and spread it like wildfire. It won't take long for us to tell them what kind of worm you are, or for them to make your life very, very difficult. You see, in Dauntless, reputations tend to stick."

"We'll start with all your potential employers," Shauna says. "The supervisors in the control room —Zeke can take them; the leaders out by the fence—I'll get those. Tori knows everyone in the Pit— Four, you're friends with Tori, right?"

"Yes, I am," I say. I move closer to Peter, and tilt my head. "You may be able to cause pain, initiate… but we can cause you lifelong misery."

Zeke lets go of Peter's shirt and smooths it down, still smiling. "Oh but," he says with his characteristic cheerfulness, with a flash of white teeth, "Someone seems to be sensible enough to get back to you anyway." He pokes a finger at Peter's broken nose, rubbing the flakes of blood between his finger and thumb. "Who is this person? We'll have to thank him."

"No one," Peter growls.

Shauna spins her knife near his face. "Wrong answer, initiate," she says. Somehow the combination of Shauna's ferocity and Zeke's cheerfulness is just strange enough to be threatening. "Will you tell us when asked nicely, or will I add a piece to the array of decorations on your face?"

Peter's face tarns red. "It was Tris," he mutters. His fists clench.

Zeke whistles. "Sweet. I love that girl."

"Remember what we said," Shauna growls, removing the knife from close to Peter's face. "Mess up again, and you will be wishing you hadn't even been born, much less joined Dauntless." Zeke waves at Peter, and we all leave together.

"Your girl is something, honest," Zeke says as we walk down towards the Pit. "That was some real damage she has done to the pansycake."

Shauna punches me lightly on the arm, smiling. "You've got a fighter there, Four. Keep her."

I just smile in silence. I sure plan to do that. But for the moment, I need to talk to her.

She is sitting at a table with Will and Christina when I find her.

"Tris, a word, please?" I say, keeping my tone cold and detached. Christina and Will stare between us, surprised. I hope they haven't noticed the feelings between Tris and me. Nodding at them, Tris follows me out of the dining hall. I drop my charade once we are out of everyone's sight, taking her hand.

"Why exactly did you feel the need to beat Peter up?" I ask her. I am not really mad at her, just curious about her response. Even though I know all too well why she did it.

"Who said I did it?" she says with an expression of completely angelic innocence. I almost smile.

"Peter did, as a matter of fact, when he was grilled, but I could easily guess that it was you," I tell her. "You realize that it completely defeats the purpose of your acting weak, right?"

"Yes," Tris says defiantly. "But I don't care." She is really small. I don't mind. She is a little ball of fire.

"You're so stubborn," I say, laughing a little. She is so proud. So strong. And she is mine. I kiss the corner of her mouth. "I like that," I whisper, smiling.

That makes her laugh. "Sometimes I don't understand you at all," she says. _I don't either, really._

I turn serious as I think of Peter. "That was really harsh though," I say quietly. Not that I feel sorry for Peter. But I still feel the horror of the damage that I dealt to Drew, how I nearly killed him. I wonder if Tris went into a mindless rage like me when she hit Peter.

"He deserved it," Tris says vehemently. "As did Drew."

"They did," I agree. "But I don't think that makes us better persons." The lashings of Marcus' belt echo against my back. Could I really be as bad as him?

"Maybe not," Tris says. "Maybe that's why we like each other. We aren't very nice people."

"No," I say, tracing her face with my fingertips, searching for my salvation in the warmth of her skin, "We are not."

But perhaps that's okay, for now.

-o0o-

It happens during the night. I don't know when; I don't know how. Or there isn't really a question of 'how', really. There aren't many ways one can do it.

Al.

The next morning, there's a crowd gathered by the chasm, all quiet and still, though the smell of breakfast beckons us all toward the cafeteria. I don't have to ask what they're gathered for. This happens almost every year, I'm told. A death. Like Amar's, sudden and awful and wasteful. A body pulled out of the chasm like a fish on a hook. Usually someone young—an accident, because of a daredevil stunt gone wrong, or maybe not an accident, a wounded mind further injured by the darkness, pressure, pain of Dauntless.

I don't know how to feel about those deaths. Guilty, maybe, for not seeing the pain myself. Sad, that some people can't find another way to escape. I hear the name of the deceased spoken up ahead, and both emotions strike me hard.

Al. Al. Al.

I hear another name, murmured more rarely – Tris. I don't make the connection, I don't know what is in here about her. I don't go and search her out, I don't try to see how she is and comfort her. That one name spins in my head. With every murmur, every conversation.

Al. Al. Al.

My initiate—my _responsibility_ , and I failed, because I've been so obsessed with catching Max and Jeanine, or with blaming everything on Eric, or with grappling over concepts and stories I couldn't understand, and with my worries about warning the Abnegation. No —none of those things so much as this: that I distanced myself from them for my own protection, when I should have been drawing them out of the dark places here and into the lighter ones. Laughing with friends on the chasm rocks. Late-night tattoos after a game of Dare. A sea of embraces after the rankings are announced. Those are the things I could have shown him—even if it wouldn't have helped him, I should have tried.

I know one thing: after this year's initiation is done, Eric won't need to try so hard to oust me from this position. I'm already gone.

Al may have been in the wrongdoing, but I was guilty too. Al may have been a failure, but I failed too. I failed him. I failed my duty.

And while his body is being pulled out of the chasm, wet and cold, I am left with one more mistake added to my name.


	15. Exchange

**Once again, my apologies for the delay. Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited and followed this story. Enjoy!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 15: Exchange**_

The dining hall is as crowded as any other day by lunchtime, as if someone hadn't died only hours ago. It always is like that in Dauntless ― everything is, a lot of short-lived clamoring, then forgotten. They will have Al's funeral today; I wonder if anyone will remember him after that, even though they will chant his name. I don't know how many here even knew him, never bothered to find out. I haven't eaten anything since dinner last night, but the smell of cooked meat wafting from the dining hall makes my stomach churn, so I walk away.

Zeke is in his room when I knock at his door, hours before the funeral should begin. There has been unlimited drinking today, all under the name of 'mourning'; it was all I could do to keep the people walking on unsteady feet from falling all over me. This funeral tradition in Dauntless, this... almost mockery of death is something I am yet to get used to; it may have its points in goodness, but I am yet to find those.

"Hey," Zeke says, looking somber for once as he lets me in and closes the door, "I heard about that initiate."

I nod, sinking into his couch.

"So, is there anything specific or..."

I shake my head. "Just drink and talk a little."

Zeke cracks a smile. "You came to the right person."

He disappears deeper into the apartment which he and Shauna occupy, and returns moments later with two bottles of chilled beer which he sets down on his coffee table.

"Drink up," he says, gesturing towards one bottle while taking the other one. "What was that guy's name again?"

"Al," I say.

Zeke nods. "The last one, right? That hulking chap? The one involved in Tris' attack?"

I bite my lip, trying to keep the dark thoughts at bay. "I — don't really want to talk about it." I hadn't felt exactly friendly towards Al after he tried to kill Tris, but that didn't mean that I wanted him dead. I know that unlike Peter and Drew, Al's motive was not really malicious. I had noticed his attachment to Tris from the beginning, but it was an attachment to the meek Stiff girl he thought she was. When she got ahead of him, he felt insecure, and it must have been at this emotional trough that Peter got to him. Such thoughts make me think even more of Tris, about how she must be coping.

"Okay, so what do you want to talk about?"

I shuffle uncomfortably in my seat. Suddenly, I begin doubting why I came here in the first place. Opening myself to anyone puts a strain on me. "I — Tris," I confess before I lose it and back out. It seems almost inappropriate, worrying about a girl just after the death of my initiate, but somehow Al's death prompts me more, throwing in my face the realization of how little I tend to open up to anyone, or trust anyone. This needs to change, at least where Tris is concerned. For the sake of both of us.

"Okay." Zeke looks at me curiously. "Trouble in paradise?"

I shake my head. "I ― just ― facing some issues. It's just me. Not her." Zeke nods, silently prompting me to continue. "I ―" I clear my throat, unsure how to face it. "Have you ever been worried that you might not be enough for Shauna?"

Zeke's eyebrows rise in shock. "Woah. Where did _that_ come from?" When I don't reply, he sighs. "Well, I ― I've never thought about it. Deeply about our relationship, I mean. You know I never had to do the chasing, and since we started dating, we have been, you know, spontaneous. Just in the moment. Shauna never indicated that I was doing badly, in bed," he waggles his eyebrows and I frown in distaste, "or otherwise. And I have never wanted anyone other than her. So I suppose the thought never came up between us." He pauses and looks at me seriously. "Why would you think you aren't enough for Tris, Four? You are a perfectly good guy. Anyone would agree to that, it is difficult to find a better man than you. If anything, she is lucky."

"I ― I don't know." How do I explain to Zeke exactly why I am facing these thoughts, without revealing the truth of Tris' identity? "It's not like that. She ― Tris is special. Different."

Zeke smiles at me indulgently. "Doesn't every lover think that about their significant other?"

I shake her head. "It's not like that." God, how do I tell him? Why am I even here? "You don't get it. What if being with me isn't enough? What if ― what if she wants more and I can't give her that?"

"Then you grow a pair and give it to her." Zeke's eyes soften at the look I throw at him for his nonchalant comment. "Look, Four. Firstly, she is a Stiff, and you know better than anyone that Stiffs don't ask for much in a relationship." _But she isn't like the rest of them,_ I think ruefully. _She has been through all this. Kissing. Touching. Love._ "And second, has she ever indicated that she is dissatisfied, in any way?" Sighing, I shake my head. "Then what is the problem? She genuinely cares for you, doesn't she?"

I look down. "She says she loves me."

Zeke's lips part in surprise. "Wow. That's great!"

"I don't want to lose that," I say hesitatingly.

"You won't," Zeke assures. "If you are worried about trust issues and whatnot, try to show her that you trust her. That whatever you are doing you do out of your wish, for her, not because the relationship compels you. It will get going from there. Okay?"

"Okay." I crack a small smile. "Who'd have thought I'd be taking love advice from _you_?"

"Oh, come on, I'm not so bad." Zeke laughs.

"You're hopeless. And clueless." I chuckle.

"Says the one who's hopeless enough to come to me," Zeke counters, and we both laugh as we finish our beer.

"Hey Four?" Zeke says as he sees me out of his door. "If she really does love you, she will wait for you forever. Don't stress yourself."

-o0o-

"Albert! Albert! Al-bert!" The name echoes in the rock-cut ceilings, in the long, narrow hallways, over the chasm and in my head, the chant of a hundred voices melded in one, turning the sound into something unnatural, unworldly. Al. Al. Al. Why? Why do they have to be such hypocrites, hailing and praising an initiate who would have been forgotten the second he got cut, like a war hero? Why do all dead people become heroes in Dauntless? Why do we need them to? Maybe they're the only ones we can find in a faction of corrupt leaders, competitive peers, and cynical instructors. Dead people can be our heroes because they can't disappoint us later; they only improve over time, as we forget more and more about them. Al was unsure and sensitive, and then jealous and violent, and then gone. Softer men than Al have lived and harder men than Al have died and there's no explanation for any of it.

But Tris wants an explanation, yet knowing that there isn't going to be one. There is anger in her eyes or perhaps disgust, targeted at Al or Dauntless as a whole I can't say. It's easy to like someone, hate them, and then lose them before any of those feelings are resolved. But there is the shadow of defeat on her face, overpowering all the other expressions on her face. Crushing defeat, darkening her eyes and hollowing her cheeks. I remember how I heard rumors of her being near the chasm when Al died. I wonder how much more there is to it.

I follow her away from the chanting Dauntless because I'm arrogant enough to believe I can make her feel better. Right. Sure. Or maybe I follow her because I'm tired of being so removed from everyone, and I'm no longer sure it's the best way to be. I need her, if only because she is the one I can open up to the most and whose knowledge of me, by strange workings of fate, is second only to myself. And I try to convince myself that she, too, needs me.

She stands in a removed hallway with her back against the wall, her arms wrapped around her torso as if in an attempt to hold herself together. The 'mourning' chants still sound, softer now but audible still. The light of the blue lamps touches her hair and her cheeks, making her look ethereal. She looks up at the sound of my footsteps.

"Shouldn't you be paying your respects?" she says bitterly, her gaze drifting, restless.

"Shouldn't you?" I counter, simply because I don't have a good enough reply, taking a step closer to her. Being close to her is a process, and once I start, I can't stop, both in the physical and mental sense. She is a flame, small but bright, and she pulls; and I drift, like a moth, almost unconsciously, and yet when I do, it's all I can think about. Her back hits the wall; her breaths fall on my chest. I place my hands on her hips.

"Not that way, no. I don't want to," she whispers, and though I could pretend I don't understand, I know exactly what she means. I had been feeling the same not long ago. Still do. She doesn't say anything more, but her slumped shoulders and angry eyes seem to say, _this would never have happened in Abnegation._

No, it would not. Al would not have died in Abnegation, and he would not have attacked her there, either. They may not be as purely good as I once believed—or wanted to believe— but they certainly aren't evil, either. But whether I want it or not, Dauntless can never be Abnegation. Not in any way.

Tris' hands clutch my shirt and tug, and I let myself be pulled towards her so that her arms are wrapped around me. Her cheek presses against my shirt, her breathing ragged.

"He would have lived," she whispers, and I feel a touch of wetness on my shirt. She feels guilty, I realize. Guilty, and angry at herself and all of Dauntless. "I knew he was going to die. I tried to stop him... He asked me to forgive him but I couldn't. I couldn't even lie to him. It's my fault he is dead." Of course, she must have faced the same situation in her previous life. This explains why she was there by the chasm when Al died. I can imagine the scene, her pleading with him to step back, him ignoring her. My fingers splay against her lower back, the fabric of her shirt rubbing against my skin.

"No, it isn't," I say firmly. "It's not your fault." It isn't her fault any more than it is mine, and of the Dauntless system, and of his family and his past. Ultimately, it was Al who made his choice, and anyone and everyone associated with him is innocent and guilty at the same time.

"If I had forgiven him, he would have lived," Tris insists.

"Maybe," I allow. Maybe if I had not been so unapproachable, if I had been to Al like Amar was to me ― a friend and a mentor, sharing his burdens, maybe then, he would have lived _. My fault, all my fault._ "Maybe there's more we all could have done. But we just have to let the guilt remind us to do better next time." The Abnegation lesson slips effortlessly off my tongue, unchecked, and would have been near-fatal to my secret had she not known it already.

Tris remains silent, inhaling deeply at my words. She pulls back in a few moments, and I look at her in the pale blue lamplight. Her eyes are swimming with tears. Even as we stare at each other, faces inches away, the tears spill, trickling down her cheeks in silence.

"Is there something wrong with me?" she says shakily. "Why couldn't I forgive him, even when I knew that he didn't really mean me harm? Why couldn't I even lie, when it would have saved him?" A small sob escapes her before she quickly presses her lips together.

"I wouldn't be able to tell; forgiveness has never been among my strengths," I say honestly. If this had happened to me, I have no idea what I would do. "But I don't think Al would have wanted to live with a lie. He deserved the truth, which you gave to him."

"And he died because of it. Did he deserve to die?" Tris snaps. Her eyes, wet, like the sky before a storm, flash in anger.

I sigh softly, leaning in so our foreheads touch. I think of Marcus, on whom I have so many times wished death, still alive and powerful. I think of the Divergent, innocent slaughtered because of a woman's whims. All the Dauntless who have jumped because of old age. All those who have jumped because they weren't enough. Which of them deserves life, and who among us can decide that?

"That," I whisper, "is something no one has a right to decide."

Tris doesn't say anything at that, instead presses herself even closer to me. I run my hand through her hair, pulling her flush against my body. I want to kiss her, but this is not the time. Both of us have our guilt and grief to handle, in our own ways. So I press my lips against her forehead, and stay like that. This is enough, for now.

"It's not your fault Al died, Tris," I tell her, simultaneously trying to convince the same about myself to me. "And your believing otherwise won't help anyone." I don't know if my words help her. But my burden doesn't become any lighter.

-o0o-

The Pit empties quickly once Al's funeral is over — that is, by the time I let Tris go back to her dormitory. A few individuals stumble around, clearly drunk out of their wits, as I pass by the chasm. The rushing water of river has held so many bodies in its arms. It must be blissful, this detachment — death after death, not one stopping you from continuing on your path relentlessly. No guilt, no worries, no duties, no pain.

It's late, and it would probably be a good idea to get some sleep, but the restlessness that I feel draws me towards the fear landscape room. If I am too drained to think, maybe then I would be able to stop thinking all the time.

I turn on the computer in the fear landscape room and set it to follow my program. I get two syringes of simulation serum from the storeroom, and put them in the little black box I have for this purpose. I don't know why I am doing this, putting two syringes instead of one. I don't have to tell her who I am, or past; she knows. I don't have to go through the trouble. But I want something, something to be the bridge of trust between us, covering the gap separating us (that I at least feel), however taxing and exhibitionistic that is. If only Zeke knew how I had taken his advice. He'd call me mad.

I walk out of the storeroom, heading for the transfer dormitory, but on second thoughts, go right back. When I come out of the storeroom a second time, there are four syringes in the small black box. I think of that time when we had met outside the fear landscape room, and I had almost given everything away to her. Maybe what I am planning is too much to ask for.

I walk back to the fear landscape room to adjust the computer program.

-o0o-

As I walk towards the transfer dormitory, I have no idea how I'll get her alone long enough to ask her to come with me. My fingers twitch nervously. But then I see her with Will and Christina, standing by the railing, and I should call her name and ask her, but I can't do it. Am I crazy, thinking of letting her into my head? Letting her see Marcus, what exactly he did to me, know everything I've tried so hard to keep hidden – visually? It doesn't matter that she knows; it is one thing to be aware of that and another to invite her in, to actually give myself up.

I start up the paths of the Pit again, my stomach churning. I reach the lobby, and the city lights are starting to go out all around us. I hear her footsteps on the stairs. My heart stumbles. It's her. Despite myself, I smile a little; she has made the decision for me.

I keep climbing, my feet carrying me up faster and faster, until I am in the lobby of the fear room landscape. The shadows hide me from view as Tris reaches the lobby, and I look, amused, as she stops short, frowns and looks around, passing right by me. Suppressing a laugh, I walk up to her and blow a gust of air on her check. Tris jumps.

"I never understand how you do that," she says with narrowed eyes. The butterflies in my stomach lessen a little as I laugh.

"Do what?"

"Sneak up on me like that."

"Consider it one of my strengths." I smirk. She smiles at me, a smile which fades as she eyes the black box in my hand.

"So, fear landscape?"

"Yeah." I turn the small box in my hand. "Since you are here, you could come along," I say, like it's casual, which is ridiculous.

"Yeah?" She appears surprised. "I can do that?"

I nod; I can't quite look her in the eye. My stomach keeps churning.

"Listen, I already know what your fear landscape is like," Tris says after a moment of hesitation. "You showed me... y'know, the first time around. To tell me who you really were."

Surprise takes me momentarily, before comprehension; of course, given how I am, that would be how I would tell her who I really am. The most twisted way, but the only way I know how. I nod.

"So you don't have to go through this... if you don't want to. It's not obligatory or something... you know," she finishes uncertainly. A leaden weight seems to drop in my stomach. Suddenly, everything seems to make even less sense; the motivation for my efforts suddenly feels ten times less.

"No, it's not because of that," I explain. _Whatever you are doing you do out of your wish, for her, not because the relationship compels you_. "I am doing this because I want to. But of course, you can refuse..." I look down. Of course, she wouldn't want to. Who would like to see a grown-up man cowering before his father like he was a child again? Or afraid to take a leap? But I can't help it, I just can't… "You don't need to go through it again. You know about it already... so..."

Tris' warm hand links with mine, causing me to look up in surprise. "Oh Tobias, it's not like that," she says earnestly. "Of course I'll go in. I want to help you in any way I can."

I feel warm at her touch, at her acceptance. Relieved. "Thanks," I say. "I would like to ask for a return favor." My heart beats a little faster. _This is it._

She looks clueless. "Anything you want."

I open the little black box, revealing the syringes. "I want us to go through your fear landscape tonight."

Tris' eyes widen. "But no initiate is supposed to know what their fear landscape is beforehand."

I'll never get used to her thought processes. Of all the reasons she could have found against this request, she chose _this_? I laugh. "After all those rules you've broken, you are saying this?"

A blush colors her cheeks. "No — I —" She fumbles, before looking me straight in the eye. There is no amusement in the gray-blue orbs. "Why do you want to?"

This was what I was waiting for. "Firstly, I think you should be prepared for what is coming, because your fears can jeopardize your secret." I have been thinking of her fear simulations more and more in the past few days, and there is no doubt that they will be her greatest enemies before the leaders when she goes through the final stage. "I want you to know what's coming, so that you can act accordingly and give away as little as possible. Remember, the leaders will be watching you. And apart from that, well..." This is the part that is tough to explain, especially for someone like me. I try, but fail, to articulate my thoughts, and just trail off into silence, hoping that some way, she will understand.

She seems to. Her lips tremble a little. "All right. We'll go through my fear landscape too," she says. "Thank you," she adds in an almost inaudible whisper.

I blink. "For what?"

"For trusting me so much." She stares at me in silence for a second, and then her lips are on mine, soft and warm. A cool drop of water falls on my lip, in sharp contrast with the warmth of her lips, a she pulls away.

"Hey," I whisper, wiping the tears from her cheek. I hadn't realized how much this would mean to her. Perhaps it wasn't such a bad idea after all. "It's nothing. And thank you for trusting me too."

"There is no one I trust more in this world," she replies, taking my hand. "Let's go."

"The room has been sequentially programmed with mine and your fear landscapes," I explain. "So we'll be going through mine first, and then yours."

"How did you set up mine?" she asks curiously. "I thought only the leaders had access..."

I can't suppress a smile at that. "Come on, give me some credit, Tris. How do you think I run mine? Your brain patterns have been collected in stage two, and they form the basis of the fears that you see in the final test. All I had to do was tweak around a bit and hunt your files out, and feed it to the program accordingly." I shrug.

"Why bother?" she murmurs. "Why go through all that trouble, run the risk? If you were caught, things could get serious."

As I look at her, and ponder over her question, I feel my barriers shattering, all at once.

"I did it because I wanted to know you," I admit, and it's an admission to both of us. "I have seen you at your most vulnerable, but I wanted to see you here, to understand you. I'm not a leader... I won't get to see what your fears are and how you face them. You have told me a lot, but it still is so much, so difficult to grasp and accept... it's difficult to believe it is real. And I wanted you to trust me, I want us both to trust each other." I look at my shoes. "And I... wanted to be with you. To be there for you. Just this once, just like I want you to be here for me. With me."

By the end of my little speech, Tris' eyes are wide and bright, her lips parted. I suddenly realize how much I have said, and how frankly. I haven't said anything like this to anyone. These thoughts and feelings are so new. My cheeks are hot; the back of my neck itches. But before I can do anything more than scratch my neck awkwardly, Tris launches herself at me, wrapping me in a tight hug. My arms automatically move around her waist.

"I will always be with you," she says, her lips against my chest. "No matter what happens, Tobias. I will always be there for you. I am not going anywhere."

Her words send shocks of emotion everywhere in my body. No one has said anything like this to me. Ever. I pull back a little to look at her, and find the emotions rampaging inside me mirrored in her bright eyes.

"I'm glad," I tell her. I'd like to hold her like this forever, but practicality sets in. "And now, unless we wish to get caught, we should really get going."

I open the box and take out the first syringe. She tilts her head, and I inject the serum, just like we always do during fear simulations. She trembles a little once it's done. But instead of injecting myself with the other syringe, I offer her the box. This is supposed to be my way of evening things out, after all. Her hands are steady as she inserts the needle, a sign that she has done this before, and the deep ache is familiar, but it no longer bothers me. I've done this too many times. I watch her face. No turning back, no turning back. Time to see what we're both made of.

I take her hand, or maybe she takes mine, and we walk into the fear landscape room together.

For moments there is only darkness, and then the room opens up to a wide blue sky, and we are on the roof of the building, surrounded by the city, sparkling in the sun. It's beautiful for just a moment before the wind starts, fierce and powerful, and I put my arm around her because I know she's steadier than I am, in this place.

I'm having trouble breathing, which is normal for me, here. I find the rush of air suffocating, and the height makes forget everything that happened so far, leaving me only with the desire to curl into a ball and hide.

"Tobias," Tris says, and I remember that I can't curl into a ball and hide; I have to face this now. "Look up," she continues. "What color is the sky?" I can't see where she is going with this; I can't even focus on anything other than just high we are. I want to tell her that this is not a game, and we aren't here to admire the scenery, but she probably means well, so I fix my eyes with difficulty over the cityscape on the open sky.

"B-blue," I manage, gasping, "with — some gray?" _Like your eyes,_ the thought suddenly pops up in my bewildered brain.

"Yeah, good," she replies, her tone almost infuriatingly calm and soothing. "Now just keep looking at it, okay? Just imagine we are about to jump onto a train. We'll jump on three, okay?"

It's not easy at all, but once all I can see is the open sky, it is easier to imagine that we are standing near the tracks, waiting for a train to approach. My panic lessens fractionally, my grip on her arms relaxing a little.

She counts to three and drags me behind her as she runs, like she's a sailboat and I'm an anchor, pulling us both down. We fall and I struggle against the sensation with every inch of me, terror shrieking in every nerve, and then I'm on the ground, clutching my chest.

She helps me to my feet. I feel stupid, remembering how she scaled that Ferris wheel with no hesitation.

"Well, that was —" Tris begins, and then the wall comes from nowhere, slamming into her back, my back, both our sides. Forcing us together, close, so close.

"Confinement," I say, and it's worse than usual with her in here, taking up half the air. I groan a little, hunching over her. I hate it in here. I _hate_ it in here.

"Here." She moves quickly, expertly, navigating through the negligible space between us to position herself in a way so that I can get the most space, so that her back is against my chest, so I'm completely wrapped around her. It makes me glad of the fact that she has been through this before; she knows what to do. But it does not change that I can't breathe, that this is too much, too much…

"Ah," I say. "This is worse. This is definitely…" Because with the nervousness about the box and her closeness, I can't think. Not a bit.

She orders me to move, and I let her do what she wants, shifting us so my hand rests on her chest. My face is buried into her shoulder; the smell of Dauntless soap and sweetness, like apples, is comforting, if only a little. It would induce fond memories if I weren't out of my mind with fear.

Tris asks me to follow her breathing. I try to do so. It's steady.

"Feel my heartbeat," she says next. "Right here?"

"Yeah," I manage. "It's fast." Like the fluttering wings of a small bird.

"Well, that doesn't have anything to do with you being so close to me," she says, and her cheek suddenly feels warm against my skin.

"Oh, yes?" I whisper; focusing on her is a good strategy; it has helped before.

"Of course," she chuckles softly. "Or maybe it's just giving you an alarm."

"What —?" The panic is momentarily driven out by confusion.

"To tell you that your rent is overdue. You have been living in my heart for free far too long."

It takes me a full second to process the sheer ridiculousness and corniness of the pick-up line, and more so that it was _she_ who uttered it; and then I'm laughing, laughing uncontrollably because it's not at all funny, but that I'd never expected something like this to come out of Tris' lips. Around us, the walls break as if my laugh shook them and broke them, and the air opens up around us. I swallow a deep breath of it, and we peel away from each other.

"That —" I say through laughter as I straighten up, "— was the corniest pick up line I've ever heard."

"Heard it sometime in school," she answers, laughing along with me. "The girl just looked at the guy, kicked him and ran off!"

"Must have been Dauntless," I comment. "I seriously must tell Zeke about this one. He'd want to use it on Shauna. Oh, Tris, I never thought —" My laughter steals away the words from me.

"Hey, Abnegation here, give me a break," she snaps playfully.

"Yeah, sure —" I wipe away tears of laughter, and how ironical is that I am laughing my hardest in my fear landscape. Tris really is something else. I see something out of the corner of my eye, and turn to face it; instantly, my laughter just shrivels and dies. A plain-faced, forgettable woman stands alone at the other end of the room. Between her and us is a table with a gun on it. The third fear is before me.

"She isn't real," Tris tells me.

"She looks real." Revulsion seizes up in every nerve of my body, and dread. "It feels real."

Panic and terror aren't the only kinds of fear. There are deeper kinds, more terrible kinds. Apprehension and heavy, heavy dread.

"You can do it," Tris says. "What you do here doesn't change you, Tobias." And suddenly her hand is slipping away from mine.

"Don't," I beg, "Don't let go of me. Please." Somehow, she feels like a ray of light in this in this darkness, and I am afraid that if she leaves, I'll be lost.

I load the gun without thinking about it, hold it out in front of me, and look at the woman's face. She's blank, like she knows what I'm going to do and accepts it.

She's not dressed in the clothes of any faction, but she might as well be Abnegation, standing there waiting for me to hurt her, the way they would. The way they will, if Max and Jeanine and Evelyn all get their way.

I close one eye, to focus on my target, and fire.

She falls, and I think of punching Drew until he was almost unconscious. _Monster. Bloodthirsty. Violent. Damaged._ My own mind throws random accusations at me as I look at the blood on the floor.

Tris tugs my arm. "Come on," she urges, "Let's get this over with."

We walk past the table, and I shudder with fear. Waiting for this last obstacle might be a fear in itself.

 _Here it goes._

Creeping into the circle of light we now occupy is a dark figure, pacing so just the edge of his shoe is visible. Then he steps toward us, Marcus with his black-pit eyes and his gray clothes and his close-cut hair, showing off the contours of his skull. Tris stays silent, and staring at Marcus' hollow eyes, it is easy to forget that I am not alone, that I am not a child.

My mouth is dry. I watch him. Waiting for the first blow to fall.

"This is for your own good," he says, and I want to scream.

He multiplies immediately, surrounding us, the belts dragging on white tile. I curl into myself, hunching my back, waiting, waiting. The belt pulls back and I flinch before it hits, but then it doesn't.

Tris stands in front of me, her arm up, tense from head to toe. She grits her teeth as the belt wraps around her arm, and then she pulls it free, and lashes out. The movement is so powerful I'm amazed by how strong it looks, by how _hard_ the belt slaps Marcus's skin. As Marcus lunges at her, she advances, kicking him in the abdomen, causing him to fall back with a cry. All I can do is stare in amazement.

The second Marcus lunges at Tris, and I step in front of her. I'm ready this time, ready to fight back.

But the moment never comes. The lights lift and the fear landscape is over.

I knew that she was aware of what I'd been through, but I was afraid at some level that if she watched it all with her own eyes, she would look at me with pity, and she would make me feel weak, and small, and empty.

But she saw Marcus and she looked at _him_ , with anger and without fear. She made me feel, not weak, but powerful. Strong enough to fight back.

I tug her toward me by her elbow and let my lips crash onto hers like this is to be the last moment of my life. I am burning, she feels like fire, and this feels right. And it is then that I know that the decision to show her my fear simulation was right. Perhaps one of the rightest things I have ever done. I kiss her cheek, slowly, letting her skin burn into mine. I hold her tightly, slouching into her. Her arms encircle me, holding me close

"Hey." She sighs. "We got through it."

I put my fingers through her hair.

" _You_ got me through it," I say.

We stay like that for a while, savoring the silence and each other's touches. Then time makes itself known to me.

"The simulation will be ready for use in five minutes," I say, absently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You ready?"

She surprises me then, and not in a good way. She says no.

I look at her, silently asking her the reason.

"I can't do this, Tobias," she says with her head hanged. "I'm — I'm not brave enough."

I stare at her incredulously. After everything…

"After what you just did, you are saying this?" I exclaim. "You got me through my fear landscape, Tris. You were so brave."

"It's easy to be brave when they are not my fears," she mumbles dispiritedly.

"I will let you go if you don't want to do this, Tris, or if you don't want me to see," I tell her. "But I am not letting you off if you are afraid. You need to overcome your fear." I

"You don't understand!" I exclaim, feeling more vulnerable than ever. "I am not like you, Tobias. I am not strong enough to face my fears again and again."

"You are stronger than you think," I insist. "You are different from others. I have seen it; fear doesn't shut you down, it wakes you up."

"You've told me that before." She smiles.

" _I_ didn't, but if you heard it from me, well..." The strange line of thought still finds difficulty to win a place in my brain, but I smile at her nevertheless.

"It doesn't matter," Tris smiles back. "I don't mind hearing the same thing from you twice; I don't mind hearing it from you a hundred times." She blushes, duking her head, embarrassed. "God, doesn't that sound sappy?"

It doesn't to me. If anything, it makes e warm all over. "I think it sounds beautiful," I counter. "Now, shall we?"

The conversation seems to have had a positive effect on her, because she nods. "We shall," she says with a nervous laugh. And so we do.

-o0o-

Tris performs remarkably well in the first fear – the one with the crows. Her hand, still in mine, trembles a little as the sickly yellow sky becomes overcast with the black of feathers, but then she squeezes my hand and lets go, conjuring a gun to drive them away. Within two minutes, we are done.

"Good," I praise her. "That was fast."

"Pract—" she begins, but then the breath whooshes out of her as glass walls suddenly push us against each other violently. And I find myself in the tank I had seen in her second simulation, the water filling in with double the pace because of the space I am occupying. Once again, I find myself wrapped around Tris, but this time, it is her who's hyperventilating.

"This is worse," she whispers. "This is definitely w..."

"Focus, Tris." I try to help. My clear head in this situation makes Tris' comment about being brave in others' fear much more comprehensible. "Break the glass."

I think of how she had tried to soothe me, and place my hands on her waist in a comforting gesture, I hope. "I'm here for you," I say.

"No no no, hands off!" she exclaims, wriggling away from me as much as possible, and I can't help the flash of hurt that runs through me.

"I always forget how to think and what to think when you are touching me," she explains, making blood rush to my cheeks. I move back as much as possible, chuckling.

Tris places her hands on the glass, closing her eyes. The water keeps rising, and I am about to ask her to hurry, when suddenly, there is a sharp crack, then more, until the wall splinters away, allowing us to step out into darkness.

And then there is Christina before us – one of Tris' worst and most real fears has just begun.

I watch as Will appears, expression blank, and Tris starts raising the gun which has suddenly appeared in her hands. It is only then that I come back to my senses; I can help her here. I must.

I step close to her and hold her hand, trying to get her to lower her hand. They seem to be moving on their own volition.

"Stop, Tris," I whisper into her ear, "Control yourself."

My grip on her hands stops them from rising further, but she can't lower them.

"Stop."

Her whole frame shakes like a leaf in winter.

"Stop," I repeat.

Her hand trembles violently, almost dropping the gun.

"Stop," I say again.

The gun falls. I lower Tris' hand, intertwining our fingers. Her forehead is line with sweat.

"It's not real," I tell her, squeezing her hand. "Remember that."

"Y-yes," she stutters.

"You won't fail," I promise her. "I won't let you." _I'll do whatever it takes._

She nods, and then yells defiance at the flames. And her denial and determination is all it takes to overcome the simulation.

The appearance of Tris' family in the next simulation makes my own heart stumble. I remember how it had affected me the first time, and honestly, I am not sure if I am ready for this.

But Tris acts with surprising pace and readiness, her face expressionless as she looks from her father to her mother to her brother. Her hand does not shake as she lifts her gun and I stare, dumbfounded, as an apology leaves her lips, and with a bang of the gun Caleb Prior falls to the ground in a pool of blood.

"Tris," I ask in a whisper as silence descends on us, the simulation dissolving, "Why did you kill him?"

She sighs. "I couldn't deliberate, because then I would have to watch you die, which I couldn't. And I did not want to shoot myself with you standing beside me."

I stare at her in silence, or rather, at the spot I know she is in the darkness, robbed of words. It was her fear simulation. And yet in this situation, she thought of me, put my feelings before her fear. How much more selfless can anyone be? I want to say something, but I can't call up any words that can cover what I feel.

Finally, it is Tris who breaks the silence.

"Tobias."

"Yes?" Her voice comes from my right, but strangely, I still cannot see her. Strange. Shouldn't we have entered the next simulation by now?

"Can you see anything?" Tris asks.

"No," I say slowly, squinting in the dark. Nothing. I raise my hand in front of my face; I can't even see my fingers. "It's all black."

I take a step forward, then a step back. I can't even gauge the texture of the ground, or if we are even standing or, I don't know, on thin air, the dimensions of the space that encloses us, nothing. I have never experienced such impenetrable darkness before.

"What is happening?" I ask, confused.

"I — I don't know!" Tris' panicked yelp takes me by surprise. Then I understand – this _is_ the simulation. _This_ is Tris' fear.

"Tris." I reach out blindly to my right; she shouldn't be very fa away, judging by her voice and given that we were close together seconds ago. My hand finds her warm skin easily. "Tris, calm down," I try.

"But — but I don't know what's happening!" she gasps, her panic evidently rising. "I — I don't know —"

"Yes, you don't know," I say as gently as possible, all the while thinking rapidly to figure out what her fear actually is. _I don't know._ That's it. The unknown is Tris' fear. She is relying on her knowledge to save lives so much that she has come to fear lack of knowledge. "The unknown is the dark...ignorance is darkness," I speculate. "So what should you do?"

Tris finds the answer I was looking for even in her panic-driven state. "L-light."

"Yes," I say. Find one."

Within seconds, a beam of golden light illuminates her face, and I see that she has conjured a flashlight. We see a doorway leading to the end of the simulation, and walk into hell.

I have seen this simulation before – blood-red skies and burning land, broken buildings and rotting corpses. Jeanine and David – the perpetrator of all the destruction, with their own twisted aims. Our city. Everything that we have known. Crumbled. Dead.

But Tris' eyes flash as she glares at them. "No," she says, "I won't let you do this to my city. I won't let you hurt my people." Her hand clasps mine tighter, and I shift closer and wrap an arm around her. "This isn't Chicago. It won't be."

And then in a flash of color that is almost as bright as a rainbow, the scene changes – by Tris' will, and the sky is a vivid blue, there are people everywhere, laughing, sitting in the cars of the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier, which moves, and the lake I full, a deep blue like nothing I have seen, glittering away as far as I can see. A dream. A beautiful, exquisite dream of a glorious future. All momentary, before the end of the sim causes it to disappear.

"That was David?" I ask, just to confirm what I guessed. Tris nods.

"The scene you created was beautiful," I say. The bright colors of the healed city still linger in my eyes.

Tris smiles. "That is how I want it to be one day."

I kiss her lightly on the forehead. "Me too."

But then I realize that though the simulation has ended, the fear landscape room isn't back to its normal state yet. This isn't over. I begin to wonder how many more fears she has, but my surroundings promptly make my thoughts dissolve in a haze of horror.

We are in my childhood bedroom, in Marcus' house. How – Why –? Nothing makes sense.

And we are not alone. Standing in front of the mirror – I suppress a gasp – is _me_ , or at least, someone who looks like me. But this version of me is careworn, thin, with a broken, defeated look on his face. Tris' hand slips off mine as she gasps in horror. What is happening?

As we watch, the other Tobias takes out a vial of clear liquid from his pocket, and before our eyes, swallows the content.

"Tobias, no!" Tris' cry is heart wrenching and bewildering, and as she helplessly advances towards the other Tobias, he turns towards her blankly.

"I'm sorry," he says, and his eyes, his voice, it's all me, but there is no affection in them; they belong to a stranger. "Do I know you?"

 _What?_

A memory serum then. The liquid was a memory serum.

A broken sob leaves Tris' lips. Before I can pull myself out of the bewildered stupor and help her in some way, something ever more horrible happens – a tall, brunette woman walks into the room, and embraces the simulation Tobias, who responds with evident enthusiasm. I stare, horrified. What on earth?

But the scene is enough to push me to action. Before me, Tris is still entranced by simulation Tobias, her eyes fixed helplessly on him as tears stream down her cheeks. I walk over to her and wrap my arms around her.

"Tris," I say. "This isn't real. _I_ am here. The real me. Get it together, Tris."

She utters a smothered sob at my words. But then, looking at the simulation figure, she says, "Whatever you do, if it makes you happy, I'll try to be happy with it," addressing her words to the other Tobias. "Even if you want to forget me." And the image disappears.

I stare at the empty fear room where I stand, at the 'Dauntless' on the wall, And to Tris, with her tear-streaked face and trembling figure. Seven fears. Only seven. And as her eyes meet mine, she gives away to violent tears.

I pull her close, letting my fingers run through her hair and my lips over her skin.

"Why?" I ask, still bewildered and a little hurt. "Why do you think I would want to forget you ever, Tris?"

She pulls back to look at me with wet eyes.

"That day when I dreamt of myself dying," she says through hiccups, and I have never seen her so distraught before, "I also saw you trying to take the memory serum, a-after my death. I— I woke up before I could do anything... I don't know..."

I can't hear anymore. The shock hits me like a hurtling train. It is impossible; it can't possibly be true, and yet, I can somehow see myself following that path, not able to stand any more pain, taking that step in a desperate, unthinking yet deliberate move…

I silence Tris, placing my index finger on her lips. No need to share more pain for both of us.

"I have no idea why I would want to forget you, whatever happens," I tell her sincerely. "I suppose the pain must have been too much... but consider it a lapse of sanity for that moment. I would go and conk that Tobias Eaton on the head if I could, and give him a stern talking to." I laugh feebly at the poor joke. "I never want to forget you, Tris," I continue. "Every moment I spend with you is important to me. I wouldn't give them up for anything in the world. And," I look at her seriously, "never for a moment think that I am interested in anyone but you. It's you, Tris. Always will be." And I know that my words are true, and will always be.

There is a moment of silence, and then she captures my lips in a fervent kiss, which I am only too happy to return, until we both pull away for lack of oxygen.

"I love you," she gasps, "I love you so much."

I smile at the warm feeling those words from her always give me, and kiss her again, tucking stray strands of hair behind her ear.

"Let's go," I offer. "It's been a tough night, I am sure you are tired. I'll walk you to the dorm."

We walk to the transfers' dormitory, our bodies close, hand in hand. And I was never so content as now, though drained by the relentless storms through the day.

"Sleep well," I say, "There will be more trials tomorrow."

Tris nods with a smile. "Goodnight." She kisses me on the cheek. "I love you."

And I am left to walk back with warmth in my chest and a burning sensation on my cheek, with a small part of me nagging me as to why I didn't say anything back to her.

 _Coward,_ I think a little bitterly as I undress and go to bed. _Fool._

But sadly, that's just how I am.


	16. Boundaries

**I know I am waaayyyyy too late... please forgive me! I haven't been able to write anything for the last month. As for The Return, I had to sit back and think of the far too many complications that I have to keep in mind to keep the plot realistic (I hope it is?). I promise I am working on it and will update as soon as possible.**

 **Thank you to all my readers for consistently being there for me. Love you all!**

* * *

 ** _Chapter 16: Boundaries_**

I wake next morning up with an unknown but a definite sense of contentment. Last night had been draining, but satisfying in a deep, strange way nevertheless. Tris and I connected in ways we hadn't reached before; I can never express how much her letting me see her fears means to me. It stretched a band of trust between us, something that was not quite existent between us till last night.

But as I walk in for a shower, I appreciate the danger Tris' fear landscape poses to her. Helping her protect her secrets from Eric and Max was one of the reasons I asked this favor of her. I try to think exactly which parts of her fear landscape Tris needs to work on.

The first two fears are fine, quite normal and, I suspect, were present even in her previous life. These fears are connected to Tris' character itself. The third fear, on the other hand, is difficult. I don't have a clear idea if Eric knows exactly what the attack on the Abnegation will include, but seeing four people in Tris' fear scene in that same, blank state which the leaders and Jeanine plan to put the Dauntless into, and the specific threat on Abnegation, would be easy enough a clue for him to put two and two together and suspect something. Out of sheer instinct, I had faked a system error after Tris' third fear, cutting out a major part of that simulation later that night (I got into real trouble with Max for this; I know that I will no longer be instructor next year, whether I want it or not); I can't let her get caught now.

The fear of having to kill her family would not cause suspicion; though I don't want everyone to find out how important Tris considers me, I can't do anything about it. Hopefully she will overcome that simulation before 'I' appear.

The fear of the unknown is not specific; it should not cause any trouble. Also, not many would be able to figure out what it represents.

It is Tris' sixth fear that bothers me the most. It features Jeanine and her plan of annihilation of the Divergent, which will have Tris captured in no time at all, and David's appearance will make Jeanine interrogate her. I close my eyes and play back the simulation in my mind, second by second, trying to make an estimate of the time Tris needs to cut in this simulation. What I come up with is a horrifyingly short time – she cannot stay in there longer than five seconds. The first few seconds are devoted to exhibiting the horrors everywhere – and then Jeanine will be there. It is with a sinking feeling in my gut that I close the door of my apartment; how will I ask Tris to do this, something which even I have never managed, something which is an impossibility for even a Divergent?

And the last fear – I sigh heavily as I think of it. I hate that she has that fear in the first place; I feel guilty for it, even though it was none of my fault. I tried to convince Tris to the best of my abilities that I will never do anything to evict her or her memories from my life, but has it worked? There is nothing I can do about that particular fear; if it reveals our relationship to everyone, well, so be it.

"You okay, Four?" Zeke asks as I put my plate on the table beside him. Next to him, Shauna is shoveling her cereal into her mouth at a scarily fast pace. "You seem to be a bit – less among us today." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and I frown and shake my head. My neck heats up, though; I hope Zeke doesn't notice.

"What's the hurry?" I say, nodding at Shauna.

"Fence duty at ten. She hasn't even packed her stuff yet," Zeke replies.

"And I blame you for that, _Ezekiel_ ," Shauna says vehemently between spoonfuls of cornflakes, making me cringe and Zeke wince. "If you hadn't kept me so _occupied_ last night –"

I wish I could drown in my bowl of milk as Zeke looks smug; this open talk of sex is something I am yet to get used to in Dauntless, probably never will. My thoughts divert to Tris, and I wonder how she is doing after last night's experience.

I hear footsteps nearing us over the clamor of the dining hall and look up, and there she is, as if she has heard my thoughts.

"Hey," Tris says, and her voice is soft, "Can we talk for a moment?"

"Sure." I'm curious about what she wants to talk about, but her expression is grim, so I assume that she might not want to talk about it in public. I look at Zeke and Shauna to find them already looking at Tris. Shauna's spoon is hovering halfway to her mouth. "Be back in a minute," I say.

"Sure. Take an hour if you wish," Shauna smirks.

"But don't get too naughty. Use protection, kids! Remember, better safe than sorry." The grin on Zeke's face is pure evil.

My face flames up. Beside me, Tris' face is a violently bright shade of red. "We aren't —" I struggle to speak through my embarrassment. Was it not enough to have to hear my best friends' nightly 'adventures', and now this too? "Oh God, just shut up, you two!" I burst out.

Zeke and Shauna only roar with laughter.

"You're cute," Shauna says, chortling. "Innocent babies." I glare at her. _Weren't you supposed to be in a hurry?_

Pushing Tris lightly to have us escape this embarrassing situation faster, I lead her out to a quiet hallway far removed from the dining hall.

"So they know about us?" Tris asks, leaning against the wall.

"Only them," I assure, hoping she would not mind. Our relationship is supposed to be a secret, after all. "Best friend privileges." I shake my head at their ridiculousness. "They are idiots." Perhaps that is why I bonded with them eventually. I needed someone to make me smile, to make me uncurl from the shell I had drawn myself into for Marcus, to make me human. If only a little.

"The best kind," Tris comments laughingly.

"Of course," I agree with a smile. "You had something to say?" I prompt.

"Yeah," Tris nods. "I'm going to see Cara this afternoon. She might have managed to solve our problem with the security, and I need to see if she progressed with the serum."

I nod, glad that she decided to tell me this time at least. "I'll go with you."

She smiles knowingly. "I thought you might want to." She knows me too well. That's why she offered. It is a little scary, these little hints of how much power she holds over me, but I have agreed to this whole package. I know that I couldn't say no. It was no turning back for me.

"We could head out once today's training is over," I offer. "There's not much to do today, we should be free by noon. We can go after lunch."

"Alright, then." She nods in agreement. "Meet me at the entrance?"

"Done," I say, and feeling a rare streak of humor, mock the Dauntless handshake. She smiles; her hand is small and soft in mine as she grasps it. But then she takes me by surprise as she suddenly pulls herself against my body, using my hand as leverage, and plants her lips on mine. She nibbles on my lower lip as she pulls away.

The little gesture seems to flip a switch within me which I didn't even know existed; desire fills my vision in a haze of red as I push her against the wall, my lips moving against her skin, a low growl forming deep in my throat. Tris' hand reaches into my hair, clutching at the strands tightly so it almost hurts, but in a good way. The very air around us seems to have heated up. I kiss her jaw and along her neckline, worshipping the three birds taking flight. I have never done anything like this before, but my instinct acts as a fine guide. All I know is that I want her, all of her; this is not a random, physical want, but something very specific, something that I feel just for her. I could have gone further, but the sight of her black t-shirt in the way of my questing lips brings me back to my senses. We cannot lose ourselves like this; we have work, both of us, and friends who will be wondering where we are. I pull back.

"As much as I would like to go on," I rasp out, trying to clear my head, "we have a busy day ahead."

Tris nods. Perhaps it is just me subconsciously hoping for it, but I think she looks a little disappointed at my drawing away.

"Later," she says with a cheeky grin, and I do hope it's not just me imagining the tantalizing promises hidden in that little smile. Oh God, this woman will drive me crazy.

Zeke and Shauna are talking with their heads close together as I head back to my table.

"– you be absolutely sure?" I overhear Shauna ask Zeke, a deep crease on her brow.

"Come on, Shauna, you know you like her too. You saw her on the zip-line. And you have seen the way he looks at her. She is good for him," Zeke says, looking uncharacteristically serious.

Shauna sighs. "I know. I just – don't want him to get hurt. He doesn't let anyone in, and he has obviously done it for her. I hope she knows just how lucky she is."

"I know what you mean." Zeke nods, tapping his fingers repeatedly against the table. It's a nervous tick of his. "This is the first time I have seen Four –"

"What about me?" I say as I sit down beside him. Zeke jumps like he has been electrocuted.

"Oh, Four, hey!" His smile is a little too bright. "Didn't hear you coming."

"What were you talking about?" I press.

"Oh, nothing particular." Zeke waves it off. "So, did you do it?"

"Do what?" I frown.

"Oh, you know, _it_." Zeke wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. His face falls as I continue to stare at him, clueless. "Oh, you are impossible," he huffs, and it is only when he passes five coins to Shauna, who wears an 'I-told-you-so' expression, that I understand what they are talking about.

"Y-you thought we'd make out?" I stammer, my thoughts involuntarily returning to the moments spent with Tris just now.

"No, you idiot, sex," Zeke shrugs. "Should have known not to expect so much from you."

My face is on fire. I don't eat much of my breakfast after that.

Once breakfast is over, I see Lauren get up from her bench and follow suit.

"Initiates!" I call. "Follow us, now."

At a nearby table, Tris seems to be in a deep conversation with Will, Christina, Uriah, Marlene and Lynn. Watching the two groups ― transfers and Dauntless-borns, interacting easily still seems peculiar to me. It's all because of the common point between the two ― Tris. I see them scramble to their feet as Lauren and I take the lead.

"Two years ago," Lauren says when everyone troops to the floor which holds the fear landscape room, her hands on her hips, "I was afraid of spiders, suffocation, walls that inch slowly inward and trap you between them, getting thrown out of Dauntless, uncontrollable bleeding, getting run over by a train, my father's death, public humiliation, and kidnapping by men without faces."

Ever since I joined her as instructor, it has been an unwritten rule between us that the initiates would go through Lauren's fears, and not mine. I would never have allowed it if she'd asked; the only people who know my fears are Tris and Amar, and I plan to keep it that way. It helped that I had only four fears and wore it in my name. That and the fact that Lauren's fears were numerous and common, and nothing to cause a desire for elusion, made it a rather unanimous decision.

"Most of you," Lauren is saying, "will have anywhere from ten to fifteen fears in your fear landscapes. That is the average number."

"What's the lowest number someone has gotten?" asks Lynn.

"In recent years," says Lauren, "four."

Several eyes flick towards me, but they mostly hold curiosity. I never explain the reason behind my chosen name; I wonder how many make the connection here. Tris looks at me with a small smile and pride in her eyes, which I feel I don't deserve. My record doesn't make me a greater person; I'm just a guy who isn't scared of much.

I watch as Lauren assigns a fear of hers to each initiate. Tris gets the kidnapping one. One by one, the initiates go in. I watch from a distance as Will brushes off spiders I can't see and Uriah presses his hands against walls that are invisible to me, and smirk as Peter turns bright red during whatever he experiences in "public humiliation" (I savagely hope that whatever it is, is really bad for him). And then it is Tris' turn.

I don't know what to expect of her, but it is definitely not what happens. Perhaps it is due to her spectacular performance in the previous simulations that I have such high expectations of her, and in this situation where one is naturally aware during the simulation, I expect her to do well. But Tris' body stiffens, her hands clenching and unclenching convulsively, and the expression on her face as she stares sightlessly ahead is one of stark terror. I don't understand; why would a fear that is not even her own affect her so much?

It takes Tris much longer than I'd expect of her, longer even than some other initiates, to overcome the simulation, so long that I contemplate shutting the simulation down and calling out to her. Her footsteps are shaky as she walks out for Molly to go next, and for a second when she makes eye contact with me, I see a single tear trickle down from her wet eyes. I want to talk to her about it, but I can't, so I do my duty, puzzled and worried at her sudden vulnerability.

It is only when I slip into the weaponry to get two guns for Tris and myself that I connect it ― the fear of kidnapping had melded with her own traumatic ― doubly traumatic ― incident of Peter and his cronies' attempt to kill her.

Sometimes I forget that she is brittle, that she is human. I forget that she can be hurt. But she is, she is broken and hurt and imperfect, just like me, and that makes her so perfect to be the one who broke through to me.

-o0o-

Tris and I meet at the entrance, as planned, and now armed, catch the train to Erudite. I pull her voluntarily against me as I sit down against the wall, so her back touches my chest, breaking all my regular rules and constraints. They never seem to be made for her.

The wind whistles through the compartment as we sit in silence, and I let the few seconds of peace envelope me before moving to the more urgent topics.

"Do you think Cara will have found something?" I ask her. Somehow, I still cannot bring myself to trust that woman.

"I expect so," Tris says, with a hint of doubt in her own voice. "I set the time with her earlier this morning, and she said it was fine. So I think she has something up her sleeve, at least."

I hope so too. She shouldn't have called us all the way to Erudite unless she had really found something ― or if she wanted to hand us over to Jeanine. I decide to keep that train of thought aside for now.

"We need to talk about your fear landscape," I say, recollecting everything I had analyzed about it through last night and this morning.

Tris turns around to face me. "Yeah?"

"Yes," I say. "You need work to hide your secrets from Max and Eric. For one thing, I want you to finish your third fear, the fear of failing, as soon as possible. If you can overcome it before your mother's appearance, the audience might mistake it as the fear of losing your loved ones. Better not have the accusations of failing thrown around, or it will make them suspicious."

I keep my eyes on her as I say it, to read her response; the downward curve of her lips and that small second when she opens her mouth as if to retort tells me that she isn't at all pleased with me pressurizing her.

"And next, this is the most important part," I go on, ignoring her reaction. If she wants to survive, she will have to adapt. "I want you out of your fear of the city being destroyed within the first five seconds."

There is a few seconds' silence, during which I expect her to nod and agree. But then I see her expression ― that stare of disbelief and outrage, and I brace myself even as it all comes out.

"Oh, it's so easy to do that, isn't it?" Tris says, her voice scathing and cold. "It's just as if I am in there for a picnic, not facing one of my worst fears. Of course I can be out of it in five seconds, because that's just a piece of cake, isn't it, Four?"

Her words hurt even more than I'd expected; more than I'd expected myself to feel. What hurts the most is how she calls me Four, and not Tobias. Till now, my real name had haunted me, chased me, until she said it in that soft, healing way, but now she uses my chosen name like a blade, distancing herself and slashing me through.

Anger bubbles up inside me, and I run a hand over my face to calm myself until I know what I'm saying.

"First," I say quietly. "Don't use my name like a weapon against me. And second, the only reason I am telling you to do this is because it is absolutely necessary. Do you realize what happens if someone sees that fear?" I think of that day they came to 'inspect' me and Amar. The next thing I knew, Amar was dead. I think of the nightmares I have had of Tris dying; they seem more real now than ever. "It brings Jeanine's intentions in the open," I continue angrily. "They'll waste no time in interrogating and killing you. And they will wonder about this 'genetically damaged' nonsense. Not to mention that if David is watching, I don't even need to talk about the trouble you'll be in. The first five seconds of your sim shows only the city destroyed and people dying, so that is harmless."

Tris looks down, the fire in her suddenly quenched, repentance written all over her face. "I know. I am sorry. But...five seconds... I —" she stammers.

"Also," I say in what I hope is an encouraging tone, "I am asking this of you because I know you are capable of it." Perhaps, just perhaps, I am wrong. Perhaps this is all wrong, and I am leading her down the wrong path, forcing her to do something that will break her, but I refuse to believe it. In this world, survival is the most important thing, and we need to do everything for it. Perhaps it is too much to see Tris in the light I do, but I refuse to do otherwise. And I won't let her, either. I won't let her die.

Something deep shifts in her eyes, and then her lips are on mine, touching briefly, just for a couple of seconds. It is achingly sweet, and makes me feel brittle all over.

"You're brilliant, you know that?" Tris says, smiling sunnily. "You always know exactly what to do."

Her compliments make my cheeks warm. After all these years of being told I am worthless, and the next few of not believing the compliments paid to me, I can perhaps finally start to believe it when it is her who says it.

"Only because I've been thinking about this all through last night," I justify, kissing her quickly in return. "That is one of the reasons I wanted us to go through your fear landscape first, after all."

"What do you think my fears are?"

I think a little, going back to my analysis today morning.

"The first two should be something about losing control... y'know, powerlessness," I guess. "I mean, you aren't actually afraid of crows, are you? You don't run away screaming when you see one," I add, half-joking, just to confirm.

"No," Tris replies laughingly.

"And I don't think you suffer from hydrophobia or anything of the sort. So that's that," I go on. "And the third is pretty self-evident — fear of failing. Which is not surprising, given the pressure you've been putting on yourself and everything..."

Tris nods and looks down as I trail off. At that moment, she looks small and vulnerable, as if curling into an even smaller space. I allow my hand to draw slow circles on her back in a hope to soothe her agitation.

"Fourth is killing your family. It's not a very uncommon fear. What I don't understand," I frown, looking at the layers of the city passing before us out of the door, "is why I am in there." I would have been tempted to ask her if I would feature in her dear landscape, if I was _important enough_ to be there in her fear landscape, had I not seen it already. But now that I have seen myself in her fear, holding a place almost more special than even her family, I cannot fathom how on earth this can be possible.

A soft, small hand places itself on my cheek, and Tris turns my head with gentle force to make me look at her. She is smiling, looking a little exasperated.

"For someone so brilliant, you are incredibly stupid, you know," she says. I look at her, bewildered, not knowing what she means. "You are in there because I love you, Tobias," Tris explains. "You matter to me as much as my family, and more. You are my family."

The moment after she finishes is one of still silence. I cannot even hear the train's rumble over the thumping of my own heart. My own family never thought me their own, and now… It is a strange instant; I am too overwhelmed to speak.

Instead, I pepper her face with fervent kisses hoping to make her see just how grateful I am, just how much she means to me.

"You're incredible," I manage to mumble between kisses. I feel like a man with eternal thirst, and she the only substance that can soothe me.

After a few seconds more of letting my desire control me, I pull myself back so that we can continue our discussion.

"Well, moving on," I say, unable to help the contented smile, bordering on a smirk at how flushed Tris' face is, creeping up on my face, "the fifth, it was the darkness, wasn't it? As it appears to me, the darkness represented the unknown. You kept saying that you 'don't know', didn't you? I think your fear is 'not knowing'."

Tris seems to agree with this. "My fears changed a lot, this time around," she says, plucking at her shirt. _Nervous_. "The first time, I had the same fears as the first two. The third was being set on fire by Peter, then drowning in an ocean, men chasing me, and, um..." her face reddens, "...er, intimacy, and last was killing my family." I am tempted to ask what the fear of intimacy was like, but restrain myself.

"They are bound to change as you do, and your priorities do," I tell her. "You are relying so much on your knowledge of the future, that lack of that knowledge frightens you. And the last two are easy enough to understand." Just talking of the last fear makes me feel a chill of melancholy, and guilt even.

"Hey," Tris' voice makes me look at her. Her expression is soft and sad. "I am sorry you had to see that last fear. I am sorry I even have it. I —"

I shake my head. "Don't apologize. It's not as if you can control your fears. I just... I wish I wasn't such an ass." I know why I feel so guilty about this fear; deep inside, I know a part of me that shies away from hurt, fears it. It is the same part that forced me to run from Marcus like a coward, that made me hide behind the cover of an alias. And if I were to lose Tris… that part tells me that this loss and everything else would be just enough to tempt me to take the plunge.

"I don't even know if all that was supposed to be real," Tris tries. "And more importantly, you didn't do it. It wasn't you."

"It was me," I insist. I can feel the familiarity in my bones – this tendency to run, to escape; I can't get away from it. As much as I have seen the Tobias of Tris' previous life as a stranger, I know that there is no getting away from the fact that we are one and the same. My voice breaks a little, loathing this weakness. "Just, not yet."

"Not ever," she insists, putting her hand on my arm. It makes me shiver. "You promised."

"I know I did." I feel broken, vulnerable; this is not how I want her to see me. "But I'm..." I don't know how to put it, "...I'm afraid of what I might do. I might make the same mistakes all over again." All of it suddenly crowds over me like storm clouds – the dark future, impending unless we manage to change it towards a favorable direction. Even with Tris' vague version, I now just how many mistakes I can easily make. I can never be sure not to repeat them.

"You won't, if you don't want to," Tris says. "I think we both have a long way to go."

I want to deny it, childishly; I want to believe that it's easy, that with Tris knowing the dangers ahead, everything will be solved. But there is no way I can delude even a part of myself to believe it.

"Yes," I say with a sigh, "We do."

-o0o-

The Erudite headquarters always seem to fill me with a deep sense of insecurity and vulnerability, a feeling that is invariably there as Tris and I jump down. The new tattoo – the 'X' symbol – on Tris' neck, which she showed me minutes before, peeks at me from behind the curtain of her hair, making my cheeks warm. If anything, the fact that she has so much trust on me, on _us_ , strengthens me.

A woman in white shirt and blue trousers who could have with some difficulty passed off as factionless because of her mixed clothing waits with a similarly dressed man in front of an old building. Tris had not mentioned that there would be someone else with Cara, which sets me on edge, but I follow them inside the abandoned building quietly, grasping the gun in my pocket.

It becomes obvious to me soon enough that Tris and Cara don't get along.

"Wish your faction went a bit low on the all black thing," Cara comments. "You two are as good as beacons in this broad daylight." There is truth in her words, though her tone is superior. I don't react to the slight, but Tris does.

"Thanks for the amazing greeting, Cara," she snaps. "Pity Dauntless doesn't have a good enough fashion statement for you." I squeeze her hand in an attempt to calm her down as Cara opens her mouth to retort. I don't want to waste our time in pointless arguments.

"Oh, cut it, you too," Cara's Erudite companion says good-naturedly, "Is this how you start off every time? Jeez, I'm surprised you even manage to get a plan across." The light from a window finally illuminates his face, revealing a youthful face and keen brown eyes behind glasses. Not a striking face by any means. But Tris gapes like she has seen a ghost.

"Fernando?" she gasps.

"You know him?" I ask, shocked; she hid yet another thing from me? Hurt follows with the question, 'why'?

Ridiculously, the boy called Fernando yelps, "You know me?" What is he playing at?

Cara bursts out laughing, apparently at some private joke. Tris throws her a glare. "Oh, of course, she knows you, 'Nando; you are renowned for your extreme intelligence," she says, obviously a lie.

"As long as it was you who told, I'm happy," Fernando replies with a flirtatious grin. Tris only smiles fondly at him. I stare between them, unable to help the sudden the sudden sharp and bitter feeling settling in my stomach as I note how at ease she seems to be around him. That cold sense of being in the dark surrounds me; Tris had never mentioned this man to me before. How much does he mean to her?

Tris looks back at me, and her smile slips off. "You don't have to worry about him," she explains very quietly, as if she has read my mind. "He isn't my anything, other than an ally. I know him from my last life. We never met this time around. He had helped me gain entry into Erudite, when... you know," she trails off, but it is enough for me to connect to her story. I nod, encouraging her to continue.

"He died," she whispers, her voice faltering. "While trying to get in, he was last, and he... he got shot. He got us all in safely. I..." Tris presses her lips together, unable to continue. I look up at Fernando again, but this time of jealousy, the only thing I feel for him is a strange sadness. He is probably even younger than me. Guilt strikes for an instant as I remember exactly what he died trying to achieve. That is another life that needs to be saved.

"Okay," is the only thing I tell Tris, not finding many words to express not only my understanding but resolve. She smiles and traces my palm with her thumb.

We proceed through the (rather late and unnecessary) introductions, and then go upstairs to test the lock that Fernando and Cara have made. Fernando explains the construction and mechanism of the lock, but it makes very little clear to me and, as it seems, to Tris.

"I think we should give a demonstration," Cara says, smirking at our confusion.

"'Kay," Fernando says, nodding. "Four, you stand outside the room and shoot at the door, okay? When I say 'ready'."

I nod, pulling the gun out of my pocket.

"No, wait," Cara says, and brings out another gun from her bag. "Use this. It's fitted with a silencer."

Alarm bells ring in my head as I stare at the gun in the Erudite woman's hand. My mother's words seem to echo in the air all around me.

 _They don't want a new leader; they want a pawn they can manipulate. That's why Jeanine Matthews frequents Dauntless headquarters, that's why she keeps planting minions in your faction to report on their behavior. You haven't noticed that she seems to be aware of things she has no right to be aware of, that they keep shifting Dauntless training around, experimenting with it?_

 _Our city is changing, Tobias._

 _The lights are on at Erudite headquarters all the time now. Which means that they're not afraid of getting in trouble with the council leaders anymore, which . . . suggests something about their growing dissent._

I snap back to reality. "The Erudite keep weapons?" I demand.

"None worth speaking of," Cara replies. "We have only a few, and that too used for experiments, to develop the technology in weaponry further." _Of course you will tell me that if you want to keep away suspicion._

I take the gun from her still-extended hand; it is no worse a weapon from what we have at Dauntless. I no longer feel confident in leaving Tris behind in a locked room with two Erudite; the idea seems too much like a trap. How do we know that there aren't any more guns in their backpacks? But the lock in Fernando's hand is important for saving the Abnegation, and if I resist, we won't get it. So I look at Tris for a long time, and deciding to have faith in her abilities, stride out of the room, shutting the door after me.

I stand outside with growing trepidation, balancing the gun in my hand as I hear the faint murmurs of conversation from inside.

"Okay, Four," Cara's voice suddenly reaches me, "Shoot!" I lift the gun.

"Step back a bit," Fernando advises. "You wouldn't like to be hit by a rebounding bullet."

I do so, and aiming at the spot where the bolt should be, I inhale, and exhale with the shot. The only sound that comes from the gun is a faint click, and then a sharp crack as the bullet hits the door. But then the unexpected happens – another small _clink_ , and I find the bullet lying at my feet. Amazed, I fire another shot, only to get the same result. The door doesn't open; a second bullet joins the first one on the floor.

"Try the wood!" Fernando says.

I do so, firing three quick shots, but to no avail; I get small holes in the wood, but the bullets don't go through to the other room, stopped by some invisible barrier. Finally, the door opens and I walk in to see that my misgivings were happily baseless, with Tris unharmed and beaming.

We shoulder the bags after giving our thanks to the two Erudite, but Cara stops Tris.

"I'd like a word with you, Tris," she says. "In the next room?"

Tris nods, but I stop her. Even though Cara has helped us, I can't bring myself to trust her. If Tris has told her that she is to be her brother's potential killer, there is every reason for Cara to want her dead. Fernando with his easy smile appears harmless enough, but I can't ignore the resident coldness in Cara's eyes.

"Anything you tell her, you can tell me," I tell her firmly. I am not letting Tris out of sight with this woman.

"Hey, you don't —" Tris starts to protest, but Cara nods in acceptance.

"Come on over. Just a minute, Fernando."

"I have done all this just because you asked me to, Prior," Cara says when we are in the other room. Her cold, hostile tone makes me stiffen. "I am betraying my own faction to save the stupid, selfless one of yours. After this, if _anything_ happens to my brother, I will personally make sure that you are dead."

I can't stop my jaw from tightening at the threat, but Tris appears unaffected.

"Don't worry," she says equally coldly, "If anything happens to Will, I myself would ask for the same fate."

Satisfied, Cara nods. Then she pulls out a little box from her pocket. She opens it to show a syringe with pale yellow liquid.

"The inoculation for your Divergent hallucinogenic," she says. Tris gasps; my eyes widen. But it can't be right. Did Tris ask for only one syringe?

Cara explains quickly. "I am sorry I could only prepare this much. I had to hack Jeanine's computer to get the formula and principles of her serum. I synthesized a prototype, but before I could test it or finalize its formula, I lost all my data due to a major system crash in our department."

I frown. This is most definitely not an accident. After feigning loss of information frequently at Dauntless, I would know.

"Did you consider that it could be more than an accident?" I let her know of my doubts. "If someone were suspicious of you, they could have used a backdoor to destroy your system and its data, or worse, access it." The only thing worse than loss of this information would be stealth.

"It may be so," Cara agrees gravely. "But there is nothing I can do about it. I am at least certain that no one accessed my work; it is too strongly protected. I tried to access Jeanine's PC again, but her cyber security had suddenly been made practically impossible to breach, so I couldn't do anything. It would have taken too long to analyze and reproduce this serum. I had no time. I am sorry."

"Don't be," Tris says. "You did more than I could ever ask for. Thank you."

"Be careful," I warn her. "They may be watching you." Moments earlier, I was not willing to trust her, but the destruction of her research data makes me confident that she is actually our ally.

One more life in danger. Are we doing enough?

-o0o-

"Dinner first or delivery?" Tris asks as we sit in the train carriage, the two bags resting on our laps. The sun has set; the quickly overtaking cover of darkness is ideal for us to give away our burdens to Tris' parents.

"Let's just get this done with," I reply. "I don't think we will be able to smuggle these big bags in and out of Dauntless without attracting attention."

"Okay." She rests her head on my shoulder. Any other time, it would calm me down, but as I look at the scenery quickly moving past, the train rushing towards Abnegation, my stomach seems to be twisting in coils. I swallow. I know I have to do this, but somehow, I don't want to. A heavy dread settles me, urging me to run.

We reach Abnegation much quicker than I'd like. The grey houses stare down at me once again, and images of dark, locked cupboards and the sound of the belt lashing and screams fill my head. I have never been able to see Abnegation the way others see it, never.

We pass through Marcus' house, _my_ house, I try to remind myself, and the nightmares of my fear landscape threaten to trap me again. I feel the way I was at ten, knowing that I would get twenty lashings because I had stayed out late and had not done the chores, knowing that I had no one to save me. Tris looks at me anxiously, and I force myself not to show my fear on my face. We walk on.

By the time we approach the Priors' residence, fear has condensed in a lump in my throat, this time for another reason – my identity. How do I meet Tris' parents? What am I supposed to tell them? What will they think when they find themselves before the much-admired Marcus Eaton's traitor son? What will happen if they realize how close I am to their daughter? I have already faced Natalie Prior's keen eyes once, and though I have almost come to love her from that single encounter, I can't risk her revealing my identity.

Tris reaches for the door. I can't do it. I _can't_.

 _Run_ , a malicious voice whispers in my ears. _Run far away from her._

I place my hand on her shoulder to stop her. Then mechanically, I slip the backpack off my shoulder and hand it over to her. Cold sweat runs down my neck. Tris' eyes widen with shock and bewilderment.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"I won't be going in," I say, my voice cold and hard, like it isn't the girl who means so much to me that I'm talking to.

Tris still doesn't understand. "But Tobias, I'm sure my parents will be fine with—" No, she does. But _I_ don't want to understand. _This is a mistake_. The thought bounces around my frantic brain. I should have never come back.

"I don't want to go," I say. The words feel hollow. It's the only thing I can say.

"Tobias, you shouldn't be —"

But I don't want to hear; I don't want to hear the truth; I don't want her to tell me not to be afraid, because I am, I am a coward, a mistake, I am everything that is wrong. "I said I don't _want_ to go," I say sharply, anger and detachment always the cover for emotions that make me vulnerable. "What part of that do you not understand, Tris? I am sure you can talk to your family yourself."

"O-okay," Tris stammers. Hurt, confusion and a hint of fear show on her face. It almost urges me to take everything back and apologize. Almost.

"I'll be around," I say, self-loathing bitter on my tongue. "Call me when you are done."

She nods and knocks, her shoulders hunched. Hating myself but helpless, I slip away.

Shame is quick to settle as I sit on the curb, hearing the door of the Priors' house close. I had told Tris that I'd be with her. That I would help her as best as I can. And the moment things became too difficult for me, I ran. Like every time before. The very air around me seems to whisper accusations at me.

Finally, after a minute or so, I stand up. I couldn't go and see Tris' parents, but there is something I can still do. Ignoring how quickly my feet seemed to turn leaden at the thought, I force myself to turn away and walk towards that familiar, dreaded path.

-o0o-

My brain thinks up every possible excuse against my resolve as I walk through the thin, looping streets of Abnegation. They are all spotlessly clean, and I can't help compare the trash-covered surroundings where my other parent lives. The streets here could easily be a maze, but I haven't been gone long enough to forget the way to Marcus's house.

This time, I can't bring myself to think _my house._

Part of me tries to insist that I don't have to tell him; I could tell another Abnegation leader, maybe, just maybe, I could even go back to Tris; but he's the most influential leader, much more powerful than Andrew Prior, and there's still a part of him that's my father, that tried to protect me because I'm Divergent. Besides, if there is one more who can help the Priors in protecting the Abnegation, I will have done something. I need to redeem myself for the mistake I've made with Tris.

I try to remember the swell of power I felt in my fear landscape, when Tris showed me he was just a man, not a monster, and that I could face him. But she's not here with me now, and I feel flimsy, like I'm made of paper. Guilt and fear slither through me, making me weak at the knees. Childishly, I long for Tris' presence.

I walk up the path to the house, and my legs are rigid, like they don't have joints. I don't knock; I don't want to wake anyone else. I reach under the doormat for the spare key and unlock the front door.

It's late, but the light is still on in the kitchen. By the time I walk through the door, he's already standing where I can see him. Behind him, the kitchen table is covered with papers. He's not wearing his shoes—they're on the living room carpet, their laces undone—and his eyes are just as shadowed as they are in my nightmares about him.

"What are you doing here?" He looks me up and down. I wonder what he's looking at until I remember that I'm wearing Dauntless black, heavy boots and a jacket, tattoo ink on my neck. He comes a little closer, and I notice that I'm as tall as he is, and stronger than I ever have been.

He could never overpower me now.

"You're no longer welcome in this house," he says.

"I . . ." I stand up straighter, and not because he hates bad posture. "I don't care," I say, and his eyebrows pop up like I just surprised him.

Maybe I did. The thought strengthens me just a little.

"I came to warn you," I say. "I found something. Attack plans." I hide Tris' involvement in the plan from him. The lesser he knows about her, the better. "Max and Jeanine are going to attack Abnegation, in less than a week. On – on Initiation Day. Abnegation will be finished if no one stops them."

He watches me for a second, in a way that makes me feel like I'm being measured, and then his expression shifts into a sneer.

"Max and Jeanine are going to attack," he says. "Just the two of them, armed with some simulation syringes?" His eyes narrow. "Did Max send you here? Have you become his Dauntless lackey? What, does he want to scare me?"

I stare at him. When I thought about warning the Abnegation, I was sure the hardest part would be getting myself through this door. It never occurred to me that he wouldn't believe me.

"Don't be stupid," I say. I would never have said that to him when I lived in this house, but two years of intentionally adopting Dauntless speech patterns make it come out of my mouth naturally. "If you're suspicious of Max, it's for a reason, and I'm telling you it's a good one. You're right to be suspicious. You're in danger—you all are. The Priors are doing their best to protect everyone from the upcoming attack. Help them."

Marcus squints a little at the mention of the Priors, then glares at me. "You dare to come to my house after you betrayed your faction," he says, his voice low, "after you betrayed your family . . . and insult me?" He shakes his head. "I refuse to be intimidated into doing what Max and Jeanine want, and certainly not by my son."

I inhale sharply. No way had I thought that this conversation would go this way. "You know what?" I say, anger clawing at my chest at his irrationality. "Forget it. I should have gone to someone else." Then I take a deep breath and say something I would never have mustered even months ago, "I don't know how they haven't seen through you yet. You don't care for them. All you want is power. You are a coward!"

I turn toward the door, but then his hand closes around my arm, tightly. His eyes flash. "Don't walk away from me," he says very quietly, and I flinch involuntarily.

I stare at him, for a second feeling dizzy, like I'm outside of my own body, already separating myself from the moment so I can survive it.

 _You can fight him_ , I think, as I remember Tris drawing back the belt in my fear landscape to strike him. I pull my arm free, and I'm too strong for him to hold on to. But I can only muster the strength to walk away, and he doesn't dare shout after me, not when the neighbors could hear. My hands shake a little bit, so I put them in my pockets. I don't hear the front door shut behind me, so I know he's watching me go.

It wasn't the triumphant return I pictured, nor the redemption I had hoped for.

My breathing is still slightly staggered as I wait near the Priors' house, near the back. Up front, I hear a door close, and as I start walking as noiselessly possible in that direction, I hear Tris.

"Tobias!" she whispers. "Tobias!"

I reach her, making her jump. "How did it go?" I ask quietly.

"They accepted," she replies curtly, her tone making me worry that she has taken my refusal to go in with her quite badly. "We can hope for the best." At least she has done something here, unlike my failure of a mission.

We begin walking towards the train tracks in silence. My composure is still rattled from my encounter with Marcus. Almost unconsciously, I reach out for Tris' hand. But as soon as our hands brush, she pulls hers away. That confirms it – she is definitely angry with me.

"Tris..." I start, trying for an apology, but she stops me.

"Save it, Tobias." Her voice is bitter, cold. She has never used this tone on me. It digs uncomfortably in my heart. Knowing that nothing that I say will help, I let her have the silence, which seems to grow more and more tight between us.

"What are you thinking?" I ask finally as we approach the tracks, watching as she looks back wistfully at the distant grey houses.

She seems to have calmed enough to answer me. "What would have happened if we had stayed in Abnegation," she says quietly.

Her words hit me harder than I thought they could. All in a second, I can envision it all – Tris growing up and taking traditional Abnegation jobs, that Robert boy or someone else courting her and marrying her, while I remained under Marcus, in shadows and anonymity, allowing him to break me further. If I survived long enough to outlast his torture and become his successor, I would do as he bid me, taking up a government job and taking a docile, obedient wife of his choice. Or worse, I would become a monster like him and torture her like he did Evelyn.

Beatrice Prior, with a very normal Abnegation life, would be no more than a passing name in my life, if at all. And she would never, ever come close to me, if she met me at all.

The vision leaves me feeling hollow. My legs feel rigid, ready to drop me to the ground.

"If we had stayed in Abnegation, Tris," I whisper, remembering that I was supposed to answer her, "I don't think I would ever have met you. And you would never have loved me."

There is a long moment of silence between us. Then her arms are around my neck and her lips are on mine and there is nothing but shock that I feel. But it is enough to remind me of who I am, and that she is mine. I find myself smiling as I kiss her back. Strength flows from her, and comfort, filling my every crack and crevice, and finally, I am fine.

"It doesn't matter," I say when we pull away, "I am where I am today, and that is all that matters."

"Yes," she says, and kisses me again. "That's all that matters."

And I know that if there was one day more blessed than the day I left and chose Dauntless as my home, it was the day she fell on the net and into my life.


End file.
